Cotton Candy Snow
by Vindalootoo
Summary: A series of oneshots dealing with Yuki, Shu and winter. Snow Fort Part Part Four: Homecoming. Eiri fights bravely through ice and snow to return to his PO'd Shu-chan only to discover: an empty house and a hungry Yushu! Where can Shuuichi be?
1. Chapter 1

My first post! This is a series of one-shots involving Yuki, Shu and winter. Part one: It's not always arguments that find Shuuichi on the chilly side of the front door. Pure, gentle fluff with hopefully a bit different take on canon elements. Please read and enjoy.

This is a work of fanfiction based on Gravitation by Maki Murakami. Any similar between it and any future work by her is purely coincidental. (Duh.) 2M owns all the rights to stories and characters, I'm just thankful she lets us play with them.

**Snowfall**

By Vindaloo

A soft tap on his door was the first clue.

"Ne...Yuki?" A tiny query...soft...unobtrusive, was the second.

Shuuichi had something important to tell him, and wanted to know if it was safe to interrupt.

"C'mon in, brat."

Yuki Eiri deliberately finished the paragraph, then leaned back in his leather chair, tossing his glasses down beside his laptop, before turning to face the young man creeping cautiously into his study bearing a large, steaming mug cradled in both hands. A large, steaming mug that had damned well better be for him.

Shindou Shuuichi was a disaster waiting to happen in a kitchen, except when it had to do with a latte machine.

Go figure.

"That for me?" he asked, pretty much rhetorically, and Shuuichi nodded, holding it out. Eiri set it on the desk, reached for one of those now-free hands and pulled Shuuichi to him for a slow, lingering kiss, having neither the time nor the energy nor the free neurons for anything more energetic. "Thanks," he murmured against the welcoming lips, then just as gently pushed Shuuichi aside.

Shuuichi's hand left his and traveled up his arm, coming to rest on his shoulder, and a moment later, small, strong fingers began a pleasant kneading of Eiri's too-tight neck muscles.

Yuki picked up his glasses and slid them into place.

"It's snowing again," Shuuichi said softly.

"That should thrill the kids," Yuki answered, his eyes on the screen, his mind already planning his next paragraph. Ah, the words were flowing well tonight.

"Thought I'd go out for a walk. Didn't want you to worry if you surfaced before I got back."

Yuki grunted, his fingers picking up where his mind left off.

The kneading ended in a gentle caress, and Shu's lips brushed his temple before the familiar presence disappeared from behind him.

"Shu?" he said without looking up, and the small shadowy figure floating in his peripheral vision paused. "Have fun."

"Thanks." Amazing how that sweet smile permeated the equally sweet voice, enhancing both to the status of downright beautiful.

The door closed silently.

Yuki finished another paragraph, edited the last several into something approaching a logical sequence, and reached again for the savory mug.

Shuuichi did have a knack, both for knowing when he needed something more than just black coffee and when he needed his space. When the words were flowing, as they were tonight, his enthusiastic little lover could be the proverbial mouse.

It was a sensitivity that had endeared him to the brat from that first night Shuuichi had spent in this apartment, a night when an incipient good night flying tackle had turned into a just outside his office door whisper.

Because Shu had heard him typing.

Hiro, Shuuichi's best friend and band mate, had asked him once, how he ever got any work done. He hadn't even tried to explain. Everyone just assumed the brat was insufferable to live with, an energizer bunny with ADD.

Everyone was wrong.

Somehow, from those first days, Shuuichi had known unerringly when he truly needed to be quiet. He'd also known when he could come in and babble, had sensed, somehow, when that distraction was actually welcome. Sure, Eiri'd throw him out when the distraction managed to jumpstart his muse and the words began to flow, but the fact was, Shuuichi's enthusiastic news of his recording day when things went well, or equally heartfelt complaints when things went badly, pulled Eiri out of the self-focused frustration that drove his muse into hiding in the first place.

The fact was, had Shuuichi _not_ shown that delicate and real respect for the creative muse, he wouldn't have lasted a week in Eiri's domicile, let alone...damn, almost two years? And that initial, instinctive sense for when to give his novelist roommate and lover his creative space had only gotten better with time.

Just like tonight. There was no doubt Shuuichi had hoped he could tempt Eiri into going out with him into the snow, and as little doubt that Shuuichi had known the instant he walked in that tonight was not the night to beg.

He finished the chapter, wrote enough of the first line of the next to give him a running start when he returned, and closed the lid on the computer, heading out to the living room, taking his half-finished latte with him.

It was, indeed, snowing. Large flakes drifting in the still night air.

He took his latte out onto the lanai, where a skiff of snow had made its way past the overhang, and leaned on the railing, pulling out his cigarettes and the lighter with its faded sticker, a photo taken on his and Shuuichi's first real date. Shuuichi had offered to replace it (he hoarded a dozen of the things in acid free paper, and had scanned it at about a million pixels per centimeter resolution just in case he needed more) but there was something...special about that specific one. It had seen him through some of the hardest truths of his life.

An unmistakable giggle drifted up to him on the crisp, chill air. Followed by another and another, a squeal and a shout. Eiri sought the source, wondering who Shuuichi had found to play with so late at night and found him, on a dimly lit slope, throwing snowballs, ducking and rolling, with wild, energetic abandon, as if an army of snowmen were pelting him from the next ridge.

But there was only one voice, only one small body diving into the three foot drifts, and finally, even Shuuichi wore out, lying spread-eagled in the snow bank.

Eiri could almost hear him panting, even from his third story observation deck.

Slowly, the arms and legs began to move, fanning, making, for fuck's sake, a snow angel. A snow angel from which Shuuichi, human pretzel that he was, managed to extract himself with minimal disruption to his indentation. He stood there a moment, staring down at his snow picture, then, quite deliberately, flung himself into the snow again, his aim almost perfect as he made a second angel right next to the first, if just a bit high.

But Shuuichi wasn't satisfied, and only when he manually extended the wings and skirt, making the second angel taller than the first did Eiri realize his aim had not been _almost _perfect, but exactly where Shuuichi had wanted it.

Again Shuuichi stepped back, examining his masterpiece as he slowly brushed the snow from his coat, hat and gloves. And as Eiri watched, another sound drifted up to him, not the giggles, not the squeals, but the voice that was well on its way to making that little angel-artist into a multi-millionaire. Soft. Gentle. Like the snow itself. Singing a song Eiri himself had taught him last year.

Silent Night. In perfect English. Not that the idiot had ever learned to speak the foreign language Eiri himself thought in at least half the time, but he loved the sound. More, he respected the words and their creator, and sought to do them justice.

As if, with that voice, there could ever be any doubt.

Never mind the original song had been written in German. Shuuichi had tried, but he just hadn't been able to get his Japanese-trained voice to make the throaty consonant sounds properly, so he'd given up.

A couple walked, arm in arm, along the lighted pathway. They paused, listening, she resting her scarfed head on his welcoming shoulder, and as the little impromptu concert ended, he leaned over to kiss her gently.

Shuuichi, with a final long look at his angels, turned toward the walk and froze, obviously unaware that he'd been observed, obviously, from his quick bow, a bit embarrassed at his interception of the young lovers' equally private moment.

The man lifted his head, caught Shuuichi's eye, and must have said something, because that million watt smile Eiri secretly loved so deeply gleamed all the way up to the balcony.

Another bow, mutual this time, and the couple moved on, disappearing into a neighboring apartment building. Shuuichi headed up the path, into the park. Suddenly, he stopped and turned, as if someone had called his name, but there was no one else in sight. His face lit. A small, gloved hand lifted, then lowered demurely to his chest as his face lowered shyly.

He turned again, with an innocent sway to his hips as that hand reappeared, curled as if tucking itself into a waiting elbow. His head tipped to an invisible shoulder, as he slowly disappeared into the thickening snow.

If it were anyone else, Eiri would feel guilty. The wonder of Shuuichi was that he wasn't feeling sorry for himself, he was making do with whatever wonders the gods gave him. He knew Eiri was busy and wasn't about to cheat himself of a magical evening in the snow just because Eiri couldn't join him.

No, it wasn't guilt that sent him back into the house to find his overcoat. It was jealousy. Damned if he'd let that virtual clone put his hands all over _his_ Shuuichi.

✴✴✴

He found Shuuichi, as he knew he would, on _their_ bench. He was leaning a bit forward, with his hands propped to either side of his knees, his legs swinging freely, making small patterns in the snow with his toes.

He was humming.

Shuuichi was music incarnate. Even his whine had a lilt to it unlike any mortal human being's. And when he wasn't humming or singing, his body was moving to a rhythm only he heard.

He even sang when they made love.

There was a time Eiri thought that trait annoyed him. He knew better now. Knew that feeling he got when Shuuichi's music touched him wasn't annoyance, but a curious little emotion called joy. Once he'd quit fighting it, he'd become...quite addicted.

As Eiri silently approached, he noted the space next to Shuuichi had been brushed free of snow as well, and Shuuichi tipped his head toward that blank space as if resting it on that invisible shoulder.

His stunning amethyst eyes were closed in gentle contentment.

Eiri now had a choice: Stand glaring down at the blank spot and demand the departure of the virtual usurper...

Or...

He slipped into the blank spot, bringing his shoulder up underneath the tipped head. Naturally as could be, that familiar head became a familiar, relaxed weight on his shoulder, and without the slightest hesitation, small hands crept between his elbow and his waist. A tiny sigh, and he was supporting the whole of Shuuichi's slight weight, as Shuuichi's booted feet curled up onto the bench as well.

"You finished your chapter?" The low murmur arose seamlessly out of the soft hum.

"Mm-hmm. Thanks to a well-timed caffeine hit."

"That's good."

A comfortable silence followed as they sat together, watching the snow drift through the cone of light from the nearby streetlamp.

Those fingers beneath his elbow wiggled, not to escape, but to get warm. Taking off his own glove, he closed his hand over Shuuichi's, finding, not to his surprise, that they were soaked. He drew one small hand free of its hiding spot, pulled off the glove, held the frozen fingers close to his mouth to breathe warm air onto them, then reached into his pocket for the dry mittens he'd brought, just in case.

Shuuichi giggled and held his hand up for the mitten like a kid waiting for his mother to dress him for outside, but when Eiri pulled the second soaked glove free, he found those cold fingers seeking a haven inside his woolen overcoat which had somehow come unbuttoned.

He couldn't imagine how.

A pleasant cuddle later, another mitten donned, and he murmured into the snow-covered cap tucked under his chin: "Hey, you, my ears are getting cold. What say we go home and light the fire."

Sleepy eyes blinked up at him, and a slow smile appeared beneath. That was all the answer he needed. He rose, lifting the brat up and holding him steady as the circulation returned to feet tucked up too long. When Shuuichi was standing on his own, Eiri held his elbow out in tacit invitation. Shuuichi, true to his little practice pantomime, threw up a hand in silent surprise. He looked around as if seeking another target for that invitation and crossing his hands demurely on his chest, looked shyly at the ground.

Eiri said nothing. Just stood there, elbow extended. Sparkling purple peeked through the strands of hair escaping the cap. Eiri rolled his eyes and twitched the elbow and with a giggle, Shuuichi tucked both hands in, finding a comfortable balance as they began to walk home.

When they reached the angels, Eiri paused. The snow was doing its best, but Shuuichi's handiwork remained. He intercepted a shy glance that slid away in embarrassment. He smiled, freed his arm and put it around Shuuichi's shoulders, pulling him close. Laying his cheek against that convenient head, he began to sing. Softly.

His voice wouldn't scare children, but he was no Shuuichi, yet somehow, when that exquisite voice joined his in a light descant, it turned the sound into something magical, drifting across those angels, and when the final notes faded into the snow, he looked down into the shining face of his little frozen angel, brushed the waiting lips with his own and whispered:

"Let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

Cotton Candy Snow #2 

This is a fanfiction based on Maki Murakami's beautiful story, Gravitation. M2 owns all the rights and I thank her for letting us borrow her marvelous characters for our own wicked purposes.

Another sugar hit for the holiday season! It's three days to Christmas and Shuuichi leaves for NY, leaving a disgruntled Yuki holding a small velvet box. No, it's not a ring.

Rating is to be on the safe side, since I've no idea what surprises future stories might hold. In this one, well, there's a bit of language, but not much else.

A word to reviewers: my apologies. I didn't realize I had to throw a "switch" to allow anonymous reviews. Didn't realize blocking them was the default. It s/b fixed now. Would love your feedback.

**Dream Home**

"Dammit, brat, don't go."

Shindou Shuuichi just shook his head and kept walking, the anger and disappointment rising up to choke him.

"Please?"

He froze in the doorway, wondering if he'd just entered the twilight zone.

Shuuichi turned slowly to face the impossibly gorgeous man seated at the desk, a move that nearly proved his undoing. Yuki Eiri was normally the essence of cool. The slightest hint of a smile was a carefully calculated muscle contraction. With very few exceptions, the only time Shuuichi had ever known him to loose that control was at the height of orgasm, and even then, he'd usually hide his face in whatever part of Shuuichi's body was nearest.

The face turned to him now was ghostly pale in the light from the laptop screen. The eyes, nearly hidden in the reflected glare on his reading glasses, hinted of desperation. The sculpted mouth was pressed tight, almost as if . . .

But no, Yuki Eiri never cried. Never pleaded.

Besides, it wasn't as if he was leaving forever. It was just another concert tour. It wasn't even a long one. He'd be gone for two weeks, that was all. Two weeks . . . in the middle of winter. When most of the world was celebrating some holiday or another and toasting in the new year.

Which was the reason he'd asked Yuki to come along just now. Christmas was a time for lovers, New Years for family and for him, Yuki was both.

"I haven't a choice, Yuki, you know that as well as I do. You have your deadlines, I have my concerts."

"You could have said no."

There it was: the invitation to explain. He'd asked; Eiri'd refused, without ever asking why.

Why he had a concert tour, this month, of all months; this year, of all years.

Unable to resist the painful twist in that beautiful mouth, Shuuichi walked back into the room to stand in front of Yuki, who swivelled his chair to face him, his legs parting in tacit invitation. Shuuichi moved in close, slipping between Yuki's knees, lifting his hands to remove the glasses that kept him from seeing the honey-gold eyes he loved beyond all reason.

Gold eyes that stared up at him in unprecedented appeal.

He set the glasses on the table next to the laptop and ran his fingertips gently along that too-tight brow.

"No, Yuki, I couldn't," he answered at last, but gently. "It's a benefit performance, for the homeless."

"The homeless in the US. What the fuck do you care about—"

He pressed a finger to Yuki's lips, hearing the personal distress behind the seemingly heartless words.

"I care that we, Bad Luck, were at the top of _their_ request list. I care that my music brings joy to people who haven't a lot to be happy about. They can't even understand the words, yet they want me, _me_ to sing to them. Not an American band. Not Nittle Grasper, not even Ryuichi Sakuma. Me."

The frown line returned between the dark-gold brows.

"Somebody took a poll, Yuki. Somebody actually _asked_ them, and when the results were published, the organizers asked us, _begged_ us to come and do the Christmas and New Years concerts in the park along with those American bands already scheduled."

"And what about _our_ New Years celebration?"

He pressed his lips against the tears that threatened. "Do you really think I didn't consider that?"

Only a month ago, they'd moved into this house, with its stunning view of Tokyo Bay, a house they'd designed and had built...together. They'd planned a party. Yuki, _Yuki_ had agreed to host a gathering of family and friends, even Yuki's father, to welcome in the New Year in _their _home.

He lost the fight and the tears began to flow. "I'm sorry, Yuki."

At last, Yuki lifted a hand to touch him, but it was only to set him aside as Yuki stood up and headed for the door.

"Have you told your family?"

He shook his head.

"Well, when you do, tell them..." Yuki's mouth tightened, then his slumped shoulders lifted. "Tell them the party's still on."

✴✴✴

Christmas Eve.

Eiri sat down to his solo breakfast of coffee, latte and beer.

Dammit, the brat had been gone for all of three days and he already missed him.

Hell, he'd missed him the minute Shuuichi had walked out the door to go to the airport. There'd been no anger. No tears. Just a quiet, _I'll see you next year._ A sweet smile and a warm kiss.

No, the tears had fallen after the door closed between them.

On the inside of the house.

He left the coffee and latte virtually untouched, grabbed the beer and headed for the living room, where he threw himself down onto the couch and picked up the remote control that handled everything from the television to the blinds to the tree that currently dominated the center of the room.

It wasn't a particularly large tree—Shuuichi had surprised him in being so conservative in his choice—but an unusual one for a Japanese home nonetheless. Not for Shuuichi a pre-decorated, designer tree, oh, no. Nothing would do for him but a fiber-optic tree with lights sweeping its depths in sparkling, multicolored patterns.

Thank the gods for the internet.

Shuuichi had spent every spare moment for the last several months making tiny origami birds in every color of the rainbow, including diffraction paper, for its branches. The popcorn they'd strung together, then sprayed with glue and dipped in glitter, hung in carefully measured (his doing, not Shuuichi's) swags.

It was, he had to admit, a beautiful tree.

And he'd put it up alone, last night, just as they'd planned almost a year ago.

Except for the alone part.

Dammit.

A thud on the end of the couch became a black shadow sitting expectantly at his side. He lifted an arm and the shadow became a large cat that moved onto his lap and settled, chin to forepaws, in obvious mourning.

Yushu was bored. His playmate was gone and Yuki made a damned poor substitute.

"Sorry, Demon Cat," he murmured and stroked the solid back, head to tail tip, then settled his hand behind the large ears and round head, scratching the furry nape with a well-trained hand. "I miss him, too, you know."

Yushu pushed himself up and turned to face him, walking his front paws up Eiri's chest until his head was near enough to butt against Eiri's chin. In another well-trained move, he leaned into the head-butt to return the feline kiss with a rub of his chin.

He'd gotten the cat for Shuuichi two years ago, a tiny mutt of a kitten who'd escaped his owner's attempts to give him away at the mall and invited himself into Eiri's pocket as Eiri'd schmoozed the local bookstore. He'd gotten the kitten to keep Shuuichi company and the fuzzy imp had rapidly made himself an indispensable part of both their lives.

Eiri reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet case that he'd taken out of hiding that morning and flipped it open one-handed.

"Well?" he asked, showing its contents to the only family member with a real fur coat, "What do you think?"

Yushu nosed the box and its contents as if seriously considering the matter, then, in a quicksilver move, knocked it out of Eiri's loose hold and to the hardwood floor, where he chased it, batting it about the floor with the skill of a professional soccer player. Eiri watched, little caring now what happened to the box or its contents.

Christmas eve was a night for lovers. A night of dressing up, of going to the best restaurants, of exchanging the most . . . intimate expressions of that love.

It wasn't a ring; there'd be no point of anything more than the simple band he'd given Shuuichi years ago, a ring suspiciously similar to one he'd bought himself at the same time. The law still wouldn't recognize their union, and in lieu of that recognition, Shuuichi had declared that ring his wedding band.

Yuki's opinion had never actually been solicited, but considering the message he'd had engraved inside, he doubted there was much room for objection on his part.

No, this wasn't an engagement ring currently doubling as a cat toy, but it was something he'd hoped would mean almost as much to Shuuichi, a gift he'd planned to give him after dinner, the reservations for which he'd made in secret the morning after they'd planned the tree—and the house to surround the tree.

And then, there was the Christmas cake awaiting pickup at noon, a cake made especially for his strawberry-loving idiot.

New Years was a time of family, not exactly a high priority for him in the past, but with the house, with this singular expression of his commitment to Shuuichi, he'd meant to change that. Shuuichi's family was important to his lover and their total acceptance of Yuki into their son's life had come to mean a lot to him. His own family put new meaning into dysfunctional, but somewhere along the way, he'd left his active hatred behind, as one by one they began to see past the hyper, sometimes neurotic performer Shuuichi seemed to the world at large to the deeply devoted young man Eiri had finally welcomed into his life.

Even his father had reached out and embraced Shuuichi, following Yuki's successful conquest of his painful and bitter past, a burial only Shuuichi's presence in his life had made possible.

Something plopped into his lap, Yushu, complete with the return of the velvet box, which snapped closed when he dropped it in Eiri's lap then proceeded to lay down on it. Yuki rescued the box and eased it open again, somewhat relieved when the expensive contents proved intact.

Earrings, specially designed. Shuuichi had had his right ear pierced for his last birthday. Together, he'd laughed, they could buy pairs of earrings and save money.

These . . . had not saved money.

Three interlocking kanji. Snow. Heart of Autumn. Home.

He snapped the box shut and let his head fall back, watching the lights sweep through Shuuichi's tree. He'd put it up, but it had been Shuuichi's vision, Shuuichi's hard work on those sweet, if sometimes lopsided, little birds.

He'd been a fool to allow Shuuichi's decision to blind him to the reality of their life together. Their love wasn't bound to dates and possessions, not even to promises, however longstanding.

And in the broken promises department, he was still king. For all his efforts, he still missed more local concerts than he attended, left Shu standing in the rain outside NG Studios at least once a month (even, somehow, in the dry season) and worked his way through more holidays than he remembered.

Shuuichi hadn't rejected him, the house, or their plans for this season. Shuuichi had sacrificed his own happiness for a bunch of...

For hundreds, perhaps thousands of people who had damned little to smile about.

And for Shuuichi, at least for the moments he was on stage, it would be no sacrifice. He'd receive as much as he gave. He was an insatiable sponge where it came to love.

But once he was off that stage, once the adrenaline dissipated from his veins and he returned to his expensive, but lonely, hotel bed, the million watt smile would fade, the hypnotically beautiful eyes would cloud, and he'd fall asleep, hugging his pillow, dreaming of his tree, his cat...

And his sulking, moody, selfish lover.

How often had Shuuichi's antics made him smile? How often had that warmth he exuded permeated and melted the chill that threatened, at times, to turn him permanently into the snowman Shuuichi teased him of being?

Had he any right to hoard that magic for himself?

Shuuichi loved him. He loved Shuuichi. Christmas eve was a night for lovers to be together.

Was the equation really that difficult?

"Shindou? Shindou? Where is he? _Here Shindoushindoushindou!_"

The dulcet tones of Bad Luck's hypertensive producer rang through New York's frozen night air.

So. The brat was lost again. Someday Sakano would learn Shuuichi was _never_ on time. A lone butterfly could distract him. Here, in a city filled with lights and music...Eiri would be amazed if he showed up before the band's sound check window was completely closed and not surprised if he didn't show up until thirty seconds to showtime tomorrow night.

But miss a performance? Only if he were being held hostage somewhere.

Which, with Shuuichi, was never out of the question.

And this _was_ New York. And Shuuichi could barely speak enough English to find the nearest men's room.

If he weren't so fucking tired, he might actually be worried.

Eiri worked his way through various stacks of arcane equipment interspersed with stacks of folding chairs, ignoring the randomly darting individuals. While he was certain they all had specific jobs at which they were quite proficient, to a man on the far side of a fourteen hour plane flight, they just looked like so many headless chickens.

He'd gotten a couple of hours of pseudo-sleep on the flight, but nothing that would constitute useful rest. He was actually looking forward to a Shuuichi glomp that would put him on his ass, but wake him up enough for a good dinner followed by a night of restful sleep with an armful of pink-topped, drooling idiot, and a morning to make the entire nightmare flight worth every second.

"Yuki? _Yuki Eiri?"_

Another familiar voice. Eiri paused to snatch a bottle of water from a passing crate and turned to face the long mahogany pony tail snapping in the rising wind.

"Hey, man, when did you get here?" Nakano Hiroshi, Shuuichi's best friend and Bad Luck's lead (only) guitarist, trotted up to Eiri holding a hand out in welcome.

Eiri raised a brow and met it. "Acclimating already, are you?"

Hiro grinned and gave a quick bow. "Better?"

"Whatever rings your chimes." Eiri shrugged and popped the top on the water bottle. "So, where's my brat gone this time?"

"Damn." Hiro leaned to look behind him. "Was hoping you'd kidnaped him to have your way with him and were here now to return him."

Eiri shook his head. "Just got in a couple of hours ago. Customs, then dropped my bag off in the brat's room. —Fuck." He scrubbed his hands through his hair and tried to focus. "Where's K?"

"Looking for him, of course."

"Great. At least if he's off waving guns around, he'll have the locals distracted. Okay, we know Shu, attention span of a kitten. Something you guys did in the past twenty-four hours...Where'd you go, who'd you meet?"

"Interviews all morning."

That he knew, having followed them on the flight over.

"Then the organizers took us to a couple of the shelters to talk to some of the people. Then, we went to the Rockefeller center and watched the skaters while we had an early dinner, then went back to the hotel to rest until the 'check."

"And the last you saw of Shu was him going into his room."

Hiro nodded.

"These homeless shelters," Yuki asked, wondering that no one had seen the obvious. "Were there a lot of people there?"

Hiro shook his head. "They purposely had us come in unannounced and in the afternoon. They said most people came in after dark...for...oh, shit. Why the hell didn't I think of that?"

Eiri shrugged. "You're too awake. You need to be nine-tenths asleep to be as stupid as Shuuichi."

Hiro grinned. "Fuck you, Yuki."

"Tempting, Red." Eiri gave the pony tail a light tug. "But I'm already taken." He looked past Nakano as the producer came rushing up.

"Hiro, they need you _now! _What, oh what will we—"

"Go," Eiri said to Hiro, pointing toward the stage with his chin. "I'll get the addresses from Sakano, here, and go round him up."

That easy grin warmed significantly, as Hiro gripped his arm. "I wish I could go with you, just to see his face."

Damn, life had been easier since he and Nakano had come to an understanding.

✴✴✴

Eiri hit pay dirt at address number two. Inside the packed dining hall a pint-sized Santa with an extremely lumpy stomach was standing on an impromptu stage of tables, singing his big heart out as he lobbed gifts across the crowd. Amazingly, there was no scrambling for possession: Here, an already gifted person caught a second and handed it to someone else. There, a tall empty-handed adult nabbed a package from the air and handed it to a child.

His brat's love was nothing if not infectious.

Not all the gifts Santa was handing out were random. Beside the door, an individual whose tee-shirt declared them a volunteer for the shelter was standing beside a table filled with brightly wrapped presents armed with large blank gift tags. In between verses, "Santa" called out names and personally presented a special package to some excitedly squealing child.

Charmingly, while Santa's Christmas songs came out in flawless English, those names frequently had to be repeated two and three times before he got them right, and when he finally did, Santa was squealing as loudly as the child passed up to the front to receive the gift, along with a kiss.

And not a child would be left out. The attendants behind that table made certain, as each child came into the room, that their name was added to one of those gifts, and then the gift was placed in a large red velvet bag that was then taken via some secret passage to the "stage" at the front of the room.

Eiri borrowed one of the black markers to write "Santa" in very large letters on one of the spare labels, took a tiny box out of his pocket and affixed the label to its bottom.

"Can you do me a favor, miss?"

The attendant wrenched her eyes from the stage and he gave her his best fan-launching smile. She blinked. And melted. Ah, the magic touch was still in fine form.

"Anything," she squeaked.

"Make sure the idiot doesn't toss this out to the crowd, will you?"

Her smile faded to a frown as she glanced at the label. "Sir, I can't..."

"Oh, I think you can."

"He specifically said no gifts for—"

"Trust me. He'll make an exception for this one."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you—"

"If he objects, tell him it's from Eiri."

Her eyes slowly widened and she looked more closely at him. She mouthed, _Oh, my god..._ and the tiny package began to make its hand-carried way up to the front of the room, passing, along with a whispered alert, attendant to attendant.

Santa's rousing group singalong of Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer (and oh, hadn't he had a hard time teaching the kid to wrap his tongue around _that_ one?) devolved into laughter and applause and Santa himself squatted down to guzzle warm water with lemon, and examine the newly-arrived gifts.

Thanks to his height, which was unusual even in America, Eiri was able to watch the emotions play across that expressive face. (Not surprisingly, Santa's warm beard had long since been pulled down into a haphazard muffler beneath the pointed chin.) A small frown, a tiny shake of the head that slowed as Santa turned the package over and saw the label, a label written in a hand he'd damned well better recognize.

And he did. He lifted the velvet lid. Closed it again, ever so gently. Those magnificent eyes closed briefly then lifted, scanning the crowd first with anticipation, then growing desperation. He rose slowly to his feet, still scanning, and when his eyes landed on Eiri, he froze and his purple-blue eyes took on a whole new glitter. A deep, calming breath heaved the lumpy, velvet-covered chest...

And Shuuichi began to sing again, his voice soft, gentle, but filling the suddenly hushed room.

_I'll be home for Christmas..._

_You can count on me..._

_Please have snow and mistletoe..._

_And presents on the tree..._

Everyone in the room followed that unblinking gaze and as if the gaze itself were a gentle hand, the path between them magically cleared. Shuuichi slid off the table and began walking toward Eiri, who stood, unable to move, utterly entranced as only Shuuichi could make him.

_Christmas eve will find me..._

_Where the love light gleams..._

_I'll be home for Christmas..._

_If only in my dreams._

The final words were whispered in his ear as Shuuichi came home.

--------------------------------------------------------

A/N: My writing is normally about as angst-ridden as any fanfiction, so when these little vignettes suggested themselves, I was a bit surprised, but went with the flow, and I'm glad I did. They were, and continue to be a joy to write and I hope they bring a smile.

Lyrics are to "I'll be home for Christmas," by (I hope!) W. Kent, K. Gannon, B. Ram, though I make no guarantees. I've been all over the internet looking for that information!

To my reviewer(s):

**Em-chan15:** My first FF reviewer! Thank you! I'm glad you liked it (Whew!) This second installment is all I have ready although I've got another one partly finished, awaiting some sort of ending. But I have other stories I'll be posting, so I hope to be a fairly reliable presence here.

**Kanoi-chan: **Thank you! These characters are so rich and multifaceted. There are so many possibilities.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction based on the story Gravitation by Maki Murakami. She wrote it, she owns it, I'm just playing in her sandbox for a little while.

**Warnings:** fluffiness, sparklie helmets and disaster ahead.

**A/N:** This chapter has been revised a bit, thanks to Bakayarona's excellent suggestions! Please check out the links at the end for pics of Shu's newest toys.

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**Cotton Candy Snow:  
****Skates  
**by Vindaloo

Yuki Eiri exited the expensive New York hotel's multi-head shower to find his young lover sitting crosslegged on the bed, drooling.

At the TV.

Now, Eiri wasn't a vain man, well, not outstandingly, but he had become accustomed over the past few years to have that particular look on that particular face reserved for him—particularly at such moments as shower exits. Had come, in fact, to use that drool as something of a barometer, both for Shuuichi's current inclinations and his own success or failure in the fine art of bodily upkeep.

So to have that look directed toward the hotel's HD screen was...surprising...to say the least. To have that TV blaring not Nittle Grasper's Sakuma Ryuichi into the aether, but a classical piece...Tchaikovsky unless he mistook...was an even greater surprise.

Assuming a proper look of indifference, Eiri settled into the pillows at the head of the bed, scrubbing at his hair with a towel, admiring the slim, naked back before looking beyond his beloved idiot's hunched shoulder to the TV.

"Since when are you interested in figure skating?"

Shuuichi jumped. Eiri caught a glimpse of deep purple eyes and a suddenly flushed cheek before a small hand groped for the remote and the TV went dead.

"Yuki! I didn't hear you come out."

In the next instant, his arms were full of warm, bare skin, and an irresistibly pouting mouth was hovering centimeters above his own. He helped himself to all the offerings, then asked, "Why'd you turn it off?"

Another blush. "Just passing time until my beautiful lover came out all wet and sexy."

"Uh-huh." He lifted a finger to catch a residual bit of drool.

"That's from thoughts of you!"

"Uh-huh. That's why you didn't even notice when I came out." He settled the brat into the crook of one arm and reached for the remote with the other. The TV came back to life on an instant replay of a hell of a three jump combo, then cut to the anxiously awaiting skater.

"Oda's getting pretty good."

"Not as good as Daisuke..." Shuuichi's voice took on a dreamy note. "And _he's_ got two quads in his—"

Deep red suffused the round cheeks and long lashes obscured suddenly embarrassed eyes.

Eiri chuckled and lifted Shuuichi's chin with one finger. "But Oda's planning them. Takahashi had better be watching his rear view mirrors."

Surprise filled Shuuichi's eyes, and Eiri chuckled. It was nice to know that after so many years together they could still surprise one another.

"So, is this a recent obsession?"

Shuuichi shrugged, his head averted.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

Another little shrug.

"I never saw you watching it before."

"Didn't want you to think I was turning into a poof."

A poof. Eiri stifled a chuckle, wondering where the brat had picked that one up, then pulled his poofy brat up for another kiss. "Too late."

Shuuichi objected and Eiri kissed him again. "Nothing wrong with admiring figure skaters, Shu-chan. They're some of the best athletes in the world. _The_ best, in my never very humble opinion." He ruffled the ridiculously charming pink mop, encouraging some of Shu's self-proclaimed "morning sticky-ups" to reacquaint themselves with his scalp. "So, what are your plans today, my midget rock star?"

"Oh, I dunno." The midget rock star burrowed into his side. "There was this really hot, blond fan boy lurking in the wings the other night. Might be a stalker. Could make for some good publicity for the band. Maybe I'll encourage him to...stalk for a while."

He squeezed the midget. "You've been doing that for two days. Aren't you getting bored?"

Shuuichi twisted smoothly up to face him, retaining maximum skin contact throughout, coming to rest straddling his legs, elbows resting easily on his shoulders.

"Never." Soft lips met his and for the next several minutes, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of a contented rock star. Still, the rock star's designated stalker had been forming a plan.

"So, no band obligations?" he asked at last.

"Not for three days. —Well, we'll need to practice and do a sound check on New Year's Eve."

"Hiro said the night I arrived that you guys went to Rockefeller to watch the skaters. Was that your idea?"

Shuuichi gave another of those eyes-lowered nods.

"Is your interest observational only?"

And a tiny shrug. "It's really hard, isn't it?"

"Not just to go out there and waddle around, though that's fun, too."

"Too?" Startled eyes lifted. "Do you skate, Yuki?"

"A little." He lifted a brow. "Would you like to learn?"

Shuuichi twisted around to his knees facing him. "Really?"

"Why not?"

A wild hug and wet kiss later, Shu was twirling and leaping and singing his way around the room, a rather interesting performance, considering he was buck naked, a performance which ended, predictably for Shuuichi, in a sprawling tangle of legs and arms on the floor.

Eiri stretched and waited for the grinning red face to reappear at the foot of the bed. When it did:

"First, we get you a helmet."

✴✴✴

Shuuichi had no objections to a helmet. Helmets were manly, after all. Hockey players wore helmets. Besides, there were so many uber-cool ones at the story where Yuki took him, later that day.

While Eiri (who was damned if he was going to wear rental skates) looked at boots and deadly-looking blades, Shuuichi tried on helmets. The problem was, the one he liked best, the one with diffraction decals all over it, was too small. Making a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, he pulled off the wig K insisted he wear when shopping, replacing it quickly with the desired helmet.

Another quick glance having assured him that his gun-toting American manager hadn't suddenly burst from a dressing room, he straightened to examine the effect—

And squealed in delight.

"Yukiyukiyuki!" He ran over to his lover, who was seated on an elevated bench, being fitted with shiny black boots. "Lookilookilooki!"

Eiri's golden eyes lifted, a cool appraisal that ended in his patented smirk, the one that hid open laughter. "Poof."

"Not!"

"It's a _kid's _helmet."

"So? Kids get all the cool stuff."

The attendant kneeling before Yuki, fitting his new boots looked up at him, smiling, and said something in English. Shu looked to Yuki for translation.

"He says you look like a poof."

"Didn't!"

"Did!"

Shuuichi thought hard and said, very carefully, in English: _"Do I look like a poof?"_

At least, he hoped that's what he said. The attendant shook his head vigorously, then motioned him to come closer. Shuuichi leaned down obligingly.

"Shuuichi Shindou?" the attendant asked, in a low voice, and Shuuichi grinned, one finger to his lips in the universal sign for _It's a secret_. The attendant grinned back, touched the helmet and said: _"Perfect."_

"Hah!" He stuck his tongue out at Yuki, did a little spin. As he did the sparkling, rather deadly-looking skate blades lining one wall caught his eye. "Oooo..." He immediately zeroed in on one pair in particular. They weren't the standard straight blade, but had cutouts in cool curves. "I want these! I want these! Aren't the pretty? Yuki, get these. You, too. So we can match! _Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!"_

Yuki frowned across at him, not a mad frown, but a thinking frown. "I...don't know, Shu. Those are pretty high-powered blades for you."

"Huh?"

"They aren't beginner's blades. They might go too fast."

Too fast? He blinked. "You're kidding, right?" What were they, jet-propelled?

But Yuki was shaking his head. "I'll ask this guy's advice, but don't get your hopes up."

In the end, Shuuichi got his blades and his helmet and gel pads to protect his hips and tailbone, and hot pink boot covers to cover his plain black boots.

But they were good boots, so Yuki insisted. Boots the attendant took into the back for a few minutes and brought out all warm and snugly. 'Heat-moldable,' Yuki called them, making him sit still while the boots cooled on his feet, which was a bit disappointing, as the dreams of toasty warm boots out on the ice were shattered.

"Don't worry, brat, you'll be warm enough," Yuki assured him as they took their newly mounted and sharpened skates out of the store. Yuki's blades were covered with conservative black fabric, 'soakers' Yuki called them, but Shuuichi had found sparkly soakers that went with his sparkly helmet. Yuki scoffed, saying he'd never be wearing them at the same time, but relented when Shuuichi's alternative proved to be pink bunnies very reminiscent of Ryu's beloved Kumagoro.

His obsession with Sakuma Ryuichi had eased over the years, but his fascination with Kuma had grown...mainly because it was such a _good_ way to make Yuki sweat.

A cab ride back across a big suspension bridge into Manhattan (because Brooklyn was the closest Yuki had been able to find the boots he wanted) and he was sitting in the Rock Center Café, hot chocolate in hand, watching the skaters, an awful lot of whom seemed to be falling down, as Yuki laced up his new skates.

It was already getting dark out and the enormous tree above the golden fountain glistened against the dark, snow-heavy clouds. Huge, projected snowflakes floated down the tall building behind the tree and made magical, shifting patterns on the newly-smoothed ice.

It looked...very shiny, and very...slippery.

"Yuki," he said softly, hoping to hide the fact he was quivering inside. "Do I have to?"

Eiri glanced up. "Getting cold feet already?"

"Um..."

Yuki frowned, his puzzled frown. "What is it? You've been babbling how this is your lifelong dream ever since I suggested it."

"But...doncha see? That's the problem. I've..._dreamed_ about this for years. And I'm...in your words... a certifiable klutz. What if I can't even stand up? What if I hate it? What if—"

Yuki's hand on his mouth stopped the flow of his increasingly panicked what-ifs.

"You won't, because I won't let you. And if you hate it, I'll be very surprised. You're not a klutz when you dance. It's a lot like your inline skates, but listen to your feet and go slow. These have toe picks and your weight needs to be more toward your heel. You want to keep your knees and ankles bent as deep as you can go, that sweet ass of yours stuck out like you're taking a dump, and your head up and shoulders back. Most importantly, you keep those hands in front of you and quiet. If you fall, I want you falling forward, not back."

"I can't remember all that!"

"You can and you will and eventually, your feet will be smart and you won't have to. It's not easy, Shu, but it's worth the effort. Better than you could imagine."

Shuuichi chewed his lower lip. "Promise?"

"Hell no." Yuki snorted and stood up and sat in the chair next to him to start putting on his own skates, slipping the plastic 'guards' over the blades this time. As with everything Yuki did, his movements were quick and efficient. When he was ready he stood up and held out his hands. "Okay, brat, up you come."

It was...weird. His feet...wobbled.

"Straight, Shu. You're strong and balanced. You can make them stop."

He tried, tightening all his leg muscles, the way he did in his warmups at the barre before a performance, and grinned up at Yuki when his ankles behaved.

Yuki was scowling, watching his feet critically.

"Okay, now rock your feet out, pressing with your little toes."

That was easy. The boots' sides were _very_ stiff and supported his ankles really well.

"Good. Those are your outside edges. You hear the commentators talk about those all the time, right?"

Shuuichi nodded.

"Now, rock them in, pressing with the ball of your big toe. —No...watch the knee. Keep it aligned with the toe. Tighten the outside of your calf—That's it. Good. Inside edges. Have you got all that?"

"I guess."

"Okay, knees and ankles bent...let me see it. More. More. C'mon, Shu, we just spent several hundred dollars on boots that don't have to be broken in. Now lean into them, make them flex."

"Meanie." Shuuichi muttered.

"Damn straight and I will be because I don't want you too sore to thank me properly once we get back to the hotel. I want that ass of yours low to the ice to minimize the damage when you fall."

"You said I wasn't _going _to fall!"

"Eventually, Shu, you're going down. Everybody does. But you know how to fall. Just remember all those self-defense classes K puts you through."

"But—"

"Shu, do you want to go back to the hotel?"

He chewed his lip, trying to ignore the quiver in his belly, then shook his head. It was now or never.

"Okay. Let's go."

Yuki took his hand and hauled him toward the big door that led out to the rink. At least, he thought, trying to still his loudly beating heart, he got to hold Yuki's hand in public.

✴

"Wait here," Yuki said, handing Shuuichi his blade guards, "I've got to check out the new skates." He stepped out onto the ice. Tall, elegant, he glided one-footed away from the gate, smooth as silk and as if propelled by some invisible breeze.

Shuuichi couldn't take his eyes off him, all other skaters, quads or no quads, taking an instant back seat to his gorgeous Yuki. He sighed and crossed his arms on the clear railing, leaning heavily, taking the pressure of the stiff-sided boots off his feet, not really caring at the moment if he ever set foot on the ice, content just to watch his endlessly talented lover.

Two strong, liquid-smooth crossovers, and Yuki was flying, weaving a sure path through the other skaters, the vast majority of whom were stumbling clumsily about. Twice around, on a sinuous path, shifting one foot to the next, and then he returned, coming to a smooth, easy stop right beside the gate, one foot behind the other in a perfect 'T'. He helped a giggling girl onto the ice, then stepped off, a frown on his face.

Without a word, he sat on the rink-side bench and pulling a screw-driver out of his pocket fiddled for a few minutes with his left blade, before silently returning to the ice. Gliding to the center, he made several (perfect of course) figure eights, and this time, when he returned to the gate, he had a satisfied look on his handsome face.

"I've read about these boots," he said, balancing on one foot and doing a deep kneebend, one leather-gloved hand to the railing, "but I didn't believe it. They really don't need break-in." He looked up and gave Shuuichi a tiny smirk. "Well?"

Shuuichi gulped. "Uh, well, what?"

"Idiot," Yuki said, but in that gently teasing tone that told Shuuichi he wasn't really being a total idiot, only a little stupid. He held out his hand, and Shuuichi, suddenly shivering violently, grabbed it. As if they were all alone, Yuki lifted his mittened hand and pressed it with his lips. "Relax, moron. You'll be skating the tutus off the girls in no time."

"T–tutus?"

✴✴✴

Shuuichi, bless his idiotic, romantic little heart, stepped bravely out on the ice. Predictably, the high-powered blades he'd chosen slid right out from under him. Eiri, with a hidden grin, caught him beneath the armpits and hauled him back upright before the precious ass came near the ice.

"Bend your knees, baka. Remember? Squat like you're taking a dump."

Like the well-trained monkey he was, Shu immediately assumed the exact posture Eiri had drilled into his skull inside the café.

"Good boy. Now...look up."

Predictably, Shu was staring at his feet. He'd never seen the beginner that didn't. With Shu, however, he had a secret weapon. He was standing squarely in front of the brat and when those wide, purple eyes lifted, he caught them with his own.

And once their eyes locked, _Shuuichi _would never look away. This, considering the human head was the heaviest per cubic centimeter part of the human body, was a good thing. The helmet, while necessary to protect Shu's valuable (if sometimes seriously empty) skull, added even more mass.

"Keep your eyes and head up, Shu. Your nose follows your eyes and your head follows your nose and your body follows your head. Look where you want to go."

He began to bubble slowly backward, his fingers wiggling in invitation, his eyes never leaving Shu's. Shuuichi reached for him—and nearly fell on his nose. Eiri laughed and caught him again.

"Eyes!"

Purple flashed up at him, beginning to fill with tears.

"Don't you dare, brat." And trying another tactic, he held out his hands, palm up.

The tears vanished in Shuuichi's most brilliant smile and his mittened hands clasped Eiri's eagerly.

"Now, relax and just let me pull you, okay? Keep those knees _bent."_

Again, he began to move backward, carefully monitoring the skaters bouncing like billiard balls around them. He pulled Shuuichi easily with him, and as Shuuichi began to relax, he started a gentle slalom, back and forth, in time to the music blaring out over the PA system, a movement and rhythm Shuuichi, compulsive mimic and dancer that he was, soon picked up and began to mirror.

When his midget rock star began to hum with the music, Eiri knew half the battle was won.

Shuuichi was, for all his apparent clumsiness, extremely well-balanced and a natural dancer. He soon picked up the basics, his inline skates experience proving extremely useful. Oh, he went down a time or so, as soon as Yuki let him go, but after surviving the first fall, he immediately made a game of it, sprawling and spinning like a kid.

For a time, they simply worked their way around the rink, Shuuichi skittering and sprawling, chasing the projected snowflakes, and finding his one-footed balance, Yuki taking the time to reacquaint himself with his skating muscles and balance.

He'd been pretty good once. The last time he'd worn figure skates had, in fact, been on this ice...with Kitizawa. Skating was one of the many joys in his life contaminated by his deceased tutor. Kitizawa had taught him to skate, and when he'd returned to Japan, during what he'd come to think of as his bad boy years, he'd rejected the finesse sport that reminded him of New York and Kitizawa, finding emotional and physical release in the anonymous violence of hockey.

When he'd left the bad boy behind—sheer self preservation—he'd left skating behind as well.

As with so many things in his life, it took Shuuichi to help him look past the bitter memories to the sheer joy life held. While Shuuichi made himself a moving speed bump, Eiri moved to the center and began making old-fashioned figures.

He'd had a good coach...back then. Touma had seen to that. A coach who'd recognized, in his reserved young student, someone with the anally retentive discipline to excel at that rapidly disappearing artform that was everything of edges and precision and nothing of jumps and spins.

He'd loved it at the time, and was quietly content to discover his balance and posture hadn't totally deserted him—once he battled his writer's slump into submission.

Three-turns, brackets, counters and rockers...figure skating at its most pure, a medley of all those edges, forward and back, the fundamental roots of which he'd so briefly shown Shuuichi, there in the café.

Such a simple concept, nothing but the various ways of changing the direction and edge of the skating foot, forward to back, and back to forward. So simple, and yet you could spend a lifetime perfecting the moves. At seventy, his coach had been just such a master, his small, slender body creating a melody all its own as his foot had traced and retraced pattern after pattern, each repetition so perfect, a blade's edge never separated the marks left on the ice.

Simple threes and brackets, named for the patterns they created, counters and rockers, which began as threes and brackets, but exited on the opposite edge. The longer he moved, the more his body remembered and the more intricate the patterns became, and slowly, within those patterns, he began to feel the smooth, flowing rhythms of one of his favorite Bad Luck songs, the one Shu had written during the long lonely months of Eiri's rehab in California.

For a time, it was just Shu's voice and his feet performing a private duet, but eventually, the unaccustomed body control began to tell on him and the song only he heard faded into the ache of new boots and a sore shoulder, and it slowly dawned on him that he had a fairly large patch of ice to himself. Very much to himself.

He stopped, and a rare blush heated his face as he realized he'd become the center of attention, the other skaters having drawn to the sides to watch.

As he stood there, awkwardly uncertain how to break the spell he seemed to have unwittingly cast, one small, brightly-colored figure parted from the mass and bubbled and slalomed across the ice, slowly at first, then with gathering speed as his face brightened from awe to excitement. Yuki braced himself to receive the hug that broke the spell as laughter and music once again filled the air, and he and Shu once again became part of the crowd.

Until Shu discovered spinning.

It began innocently enough, Yuki had taken Shu's hands in a classic promenade cross-hold, trying to teach him a basic crossover. Shuuichi, predictably trying to do too much, too fast, caught his fancy blades and tripped and Yuki leaned to keep him from sprawling, sending them into a spin around their combined center of gravity.

Also predictably, the inherently dizzy Shuuichi began giggling like a loon and begged Yuki to _Doitagain, doitagain, doitagain_.

Soon, Shuuichi was doing a fair imitation of a top. He couldn't hold an edge to save his soul, but a two-footed spin had likely been invented by his remote ancestor.

Eiri leaned up against the railing and just watched the show, playing traffic cop to the unsuspecting wall-crawlers, as the idiot threw himself into spin after spin, sending himself sprawling more often than not, getting more and more daring, taking two and three wide-legged strokes before throwing himself into variously contorted positions.

But it took him discovering a stable single-footed stance to turn him truly dangerous.

After saving his third near-victim from decapitation, Yuki declared the spinning at an end, and time to go. Unfortunately, Shu was now quite relaxed. With a wicked little under-pink-bangs glance, he dodged Yuki's hand and darted down the rink, his wide-legged stance surprisingly effective. Three solid strokes and Yuki nearly had him, but the brat ducked away, went down, rolled up and darted, skittering madly on his toe picks, between three very startled teenagers in hockey skates.

Yuki planted his right blade, sending snow showering over the suddenly huddled teenagers, begged their pardon, and skimmed around them—

Just in time to see disaster strike. Shuuichi went down and skidded, taking out skaters like bowling pins. Screams and obscenities filled the air as Shuuichi disappeared into a pile of flailing arms and legs.

Predictably, every skater in the place rushed to the scene of the disaster.

Yuki worked his way through, was almost to the pile-up...or rather the pile-up was reaching him as inept but well-meaning skaters trying to help were pulled into the chaos...when a different sort of scream filled the air:

"_Shuuichi! It's SHUUICHI SHINDOU!"_

_Shit,_ was all Yuki had time to think before a pink-headed bowling ball came tumbling out of the mass.

"_Yuuuukiiii, saaaaave meeeeee!"_ The bowling ball hit him full force. He went down, Shu atop him. They skidded halfway across the rink before coming to a stop against the boards. Stunned, all Yuki could do was look in horror as a human sea rolled, skidded, and screamed toward them.

The dead weight atop him leapt to life and suddenly, it was a dark rainy night in Tokyo. Shuuichi was standing, legs wide-spread, arms out and eyes squeezed tight-shut, as Yuki's Mercedes barreled toward him.

"_Stoooooooooooop!"_ His trained voice probably shattered glass in the restaurant atop the tower. And like the Mercedes on that never to be forgotten night, the wave of humanity skidded to a stop.

One purple eye opened tentatively, then the other, and in the next instant, Shuuichi's matchless smile lit the rink. His hands lowered, and in his charmingly hesitant English, he asked, "Anybody want some cocoa?"

✴

Eiri sipped his peppermint patty and watched his pint-sized lover tottering around the café, still in his skates, complete with rainbow guards, making sure everyone had what they needed, helping bind the (thankfully) minor cuts resulting from the on-ice pile-up.

They'd been lucky. Those blades of Shuuichi's could have sliced off fingers as he'd scrambled free. But then, luck was always on Shuuichi's side. He must have an entire army of guardian angels watching over him.

Not surprising, when the one being guarded worked so hard to make everyone around him happy. He giggled his way among the tables, getting his fingers tangled in band-aids, and singing crying children into smiles and laughter.

They loved him. Everyone loved him.

How could they not?

But they'd have to leave. The press had already begun to show up and Shu's little interlude with the "common folk" had to end before the curious crowds followed the news cameras.

Eiri, laced cocoa in hand, headed for the cameras. He introduced himself quietly to the female newscaster and found her surprisingly understanding. They proceeded with a low-key interview, while the oblivious Shu continued to nurse and perform and spread his own brand of love and holiday cheer, the camera immortalizing everything.

Likely the rink's security camera footage of the pileup on the rink was already in their possession. And if not those, a dozen people had had video cameras running. Shu's first skate would undoubtedly be on YouTube by morning.

Finally, he called Shu over for a breathless, grinning soundbite, then whisked him off, skate guards and all, into a cab for the short ride back to the hotel.

✴

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" Shuuichi whimpered as Eiri eased the skates off his feet, revealing more than one raw blister.

"Sorry, Shu," Eiri said, setting the skates aside and taking an abused foot into his hands for closer inspection. "I should've made you take them off as soon as you got off the ice."

He air-kissed the smelly wound, then called room service for an herbal foot bath and a first aid kit.

Shuuichi stared at his raw feet forlornly. "K's gonna kill me."

"You'll be fine for the concert. We'll just have to keep you off your feet tomorrow."

A wicked little glance flickered his way. "Any suggestions?"

God, he loved it when his Shu turned boy-toy. He still radiated innocence, even as he screamed with pleasure. His light touches, for all their hesitancy, never failed to touch off every nerve in Eiri's body.

"I'm sure we'll think of something." He returned to the couch to sit beside Shuuichi, drawing him close with an arm around his shoulders.

Shuuichi, never one to resist a chance to cuddle, drew his feet up and pressed against his side.

For a time, Eiri just sat there, letting their combined warmth drive away the familiar chill that always set in following time on the ice, reminding him again of the good times he'd had in this city.

Shuuichi's head tucked in under his chin, and he rubbed his jaw lightly across the soft, pinkish mop.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Hmmm?" As he suspected, Shu was already half-asleep, making it safe to confess:

"For helping me remember."

"Mmmm." A tiny wiggle, pressing his slim body even tighter into the corner of Eiri and couch. "I dunno what you're talking about, but you're welcome."

Small, chilled hands worked their way under his sweater.

"Want me to turn the fire on?"

"Mm–mm!" Those small hands wrapped around him, holding him right where he was. He smiled and let his own eyes drift closed, but not letting sleep take him, knowing room service would soon be knocking at their door.

And when they did, he left his sleepy, protesting lover on the couch and retrieved the cart from the door, quietly tipping the young man and sending him on his way. Wheeling the cart into the room, he found Shuuichi, eyes at half mast, sitting huddled in the wool duster Eiri had left on the couch.

Without a word, Eiri flicked the wall switch and the gas fire came to life.

Outside the sliding glass door, the snow had begun to fall at last, soft and gentle in the lights of the city.

He set the pan on the floor in front of Shuuichi and poured the steaming water in over the herbs he'd requested. Before he could say anything, small, blistered feet sought the warmth. A gasp, but the feet didn't retreat, and soon, a sigh indicated a most happy little rock star.

Without a word, Eiri refilled the pot in the suite's wet bar and plugged it in to heat, then returned to his spot beside his little rock star, working the damp coat free and replacing it with himself and a blanket from the closet.

Shuuichi sighed and leaned into the circle of his arm.

Though he'd never admit it, these rare, quiet interludes were Eiri's favorite moments with his lover—well, second favorite. Shuuichi often felt the need to fill the silence with chatter, a state of existence that would likely always feel foreign to Eiri. But this, this comfortable shared silence in which thoughts could drift, in which, often, his best story lines began to form...it was moments like this which noone else in his life had ever been able to give him.

But then, he thought of the sheer joy of watching his boisterous lover at the rink, both the disaster waiting to happen and the clumsy little post-accident nurse, and he knew that that, too, was a unique part of the Shuuichi package. Or the kid in a toy store, going after the shiniest helmet and prettiest blades. Shu always saw rainbows in stormy skies, and that, he thought, as a small hand again invaded his sweater, was only the tip of his magic.

"Yuki?"

Curious. He'd thought his brat too far gone to talk.

"Hmmm?"

"Teach me?"

"Teach you what?"

"To do...what you were doing?"

He let that one roll around in his head for a moment, then realized:

"Figures?"

"Mmmm-hmmm."

"Some people find it boring."

"I thought it was pretty. I kept hearing Anti-Nostalgic in my head."

He smiled. Count on Shuuichi. "So was I."

"Really?" Even after all these years, Shuuichi was ridiculously delighted to discover that Eiri ever thought about his music. Never mind it was all he could write to any more.

"Really," he murmured into the mop. "I have to warn you, it's not easy."

A long pause, then a timid: "Am I—am I t–too s–stupid?"

He frowned and tightened his hold, reminded abruptly of Shu's insecurities. Insecurities he reinforced on a daily basis. For the good of Shu's art—and for the rather sadistic pleasure of helping him overcome those same insecurities. But for once, there was no pleasure. This wasn't his lyrics where those insecurities only brought out the best. This was a sport where self-confidence meant the difference between basic success and total failure.

"I'm going to make a confession, Shu," he whispered into Shu's ear. "You aren't really stupid. You just have...a unique logic structure."

Shuuichi stiffened in his arm, staring straight ahead. That crazily unique logic structure obviously chewing on this shift in his reality.

"Besides," Eiri continued in a normal voice. "Doesn't take brains, just persistence. And it's not something you can simply fling yourself into. It takes a lot of work and internal focus. I don't want you to get discouraged. You—" And suddenly, he felt the need to be honest. "_I_ had a . . . I enjoyed today a great deal. Not just skating, but...watching you have fun. I don't want you to lose that enthusiasm. _I _don't want to lose it...again."

A shiver went through the small frame and Shuuichi pulled away, twisting to look up at him.

"Then...we _can _do it again? When we get home? You'll teach me to skate good, like you?"

He tipped that sweet, eager face up to his, and pressed his lips against the soft, smiling mouth.

"Yeah, Shu. I'll teach you to skate...good."

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**A/N:** Wheeee...I found an ending. This one sat for a while because I had the notion but wasn't sure what to do with it. Wasn't sure I could do proper justice to a "Shuuichi disaster-flick" and am still not sure I did, but once I got him on the rink, it was certainly fun to write. Yes, I do figure skate, and highly recommend it to everyone who ever dreamed of flying. I began as an aged adult and if I can do it, anybody can!

**Reviews:** My thanks to everyone who's reading and enjoying these. They are pure and simple "feel good" stories. One comment regarding my CCS Yuki: I adore snarky Yuki, i.e. canon Yuki, but I also believe the characters grow up. This Yuki has been through the events of **Yushu**, my Yuki-does-rehab story, so he's a bit tempered, though hopefully not completely de-snarked. If a pre-Yushu CCS story does occur to me, I'll make certain to give fair warning, so as not to confuse. **Bakayarona: **Thanks so much for reviewing, mostly because it got me onto _your_ stories! They're marvelous. I'm going to work my way slowly down the list, savoring as I go.

**Additional note:** another huge thanks to Bakayarona's review of "Skates": You're right! I kinda shortchanged the description of Yuki's patterns. I'll just blame it on Eiri's taciturn nature. :D My coach had just demonstrated the rockers and counters to me the day I originally posted this chapter and it all just sort of fit into his VP. _He_ of course was the one who determined further explanation was unnecessary. I put him under the heat lamp this morning and got the revised version above out of him, but for more detailed descriptions of the moves, I found the following marvelous reference at about-dot-com.

**For complete descriptions of skating terms:  
**(figureskating . about . com/od/glossaryofskatingterms/GlossaryofSkatingTerms . htm)

also at Bakayarona's excellent suggestion:

**Shuuichi's blades,** oh, yeah. They're the Jackson Ultima Lite. I have them and I LOVE THEM. Here's the only pic I can find on the internet. They're the pretty ones in the middle:  
(www . tournament-sports . com / jackson skates/)

**The boots** they get are the graf-4000 and they truly do not need to be broken in. They're an amazing boot:  
(http // www . cyclonetaylorfigskate . com / graf . html)

**And Shu just got new blade guards!** THESE LIGHT UP!!!!:  
(http //www . amazon . com / A-R-Blinkerz-Skate-Guards / dp / B000LXP2FY)

As always, please read and enjoy, review if you have time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Maki Murakami's Gravitation not mine.

**Summary:** A quest for kitty treats ends in disaster.

**A/N:** Yes, my darling Yushu-clone is addicted to Friskies Smoochies (which, sadly, they're no longer called). And, yes, we do this ritual...morning and night. And, yes, I've been known to regret _not_ making that midnight run!

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴  
**Cotton Candy Snow:  
****Smoochies  
**by Vindaloo  
✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

"Yuki?"

"Not now, brat."

"Oh. Okay."

There was something missing. Something fucking important to this scene, the pivotal scene in the whole fucking book.

It was a story of clashing cultures. Typical Romeo and Juliet crap—without the group battle scenes. But there was something...dammitall, he knew it was there, in the corners of the story.

Eiri stared at the screen, putting these damned close-mouthed characters under a heat lamp, trying to force the recalcitrant lovers to confess their secrets.

"Fuck, woman, all he wants is to give you a little kiss. What's your fucking—"

Of course. Everything she'd done...she didn't want to be—

"Yuki? Please, can I—"

"_Not now!"_

He began typing furiously, taking notes. She came from a culture that took any physical contact as the most personal of gestures. Men with men, women with women, that was acceptable, but cross-gender—_that_ was sexual. Sure, a kiss was, but she flinched every time his little finger came near her. _He'd_ been taking it for evidence she'd been horribly abused, coming from a touchy-feely socie—"

"Now, Yuki?"

Shuuichi's voice had been getting quieter and more desperate with each query.

"Please, Yuki...it's _important."_

Eiri drew a deep breath and hit control/S. He had it. The key to his entire plot was safely immortalized on his harddrive.

He closed the laptop and swung around to face the door. "Yeah, brat. Sorry."

"It's okay. I understand. But..." Shuuichi lifted his hand. In it was a flat—as in empty—pink foil bag.

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah."

"Smoochies."

A slow nod.

At Shuuichi's feet, Yushu, their large black-furred, incredibly spoiled 'child' sat primly, his tail folded about his front feet, his golden eyes staring accusingly at Yuki.

"No cluckers or shrimpsies either?"

Shuuichi shook his head slowly, ominously.

"Oh...dear." He looked at the clock. 1:42. AM. "You've checked all the emergency stashes?"

Another slow nod.

"We've got a problem."

"Uh-huh."

"Any notion where?"

"The twenty-four hour grocery store over on fifth has them. I called to make sure. They're holding them for us."

"Good thinking." He stood up and stretched. "Well, let's go."

And yet, for some reason, the ominous look remained in those big purple eyes.

Eiri made a mental checklist of probabilities. Sure, they were out of Yushu's treats, the treats Shuuichi had addicted the poor cat to from the time he was a kitten. Shuuichi had thought it was cute getting the kitten to recognize the word "smoochie" (a beef-flavored treat whose punnish name had flown right over Shuuichi's pink head) and to get a Yushu "kiss" before each treat.

And now, they had a terrorist on their hands, if Yushu didn't get "smooched" morning and night. So, he had a choice: go after smoochies in the middle of the night or get no sleep.

But Shu had solved that problem. He'd found a midnight source, called and reserved the item in question (and hadn't that likely caused a great deal of amusement on the far side of the telephone?)

So why...

Shuuichi's gaze shifted slowly toward the window, over which Yuki had lowered the blind hours ago against the afternoon sunlight. Puzzled, Yuki crossed the room and pulled the string.

White filled the square.

"Fuck!" He turned to face Shuuichi, whose little face had gone blank. "We can't go."

Purple eyes lowered to gold, then both fastened on Eiri. "Tell _him_ that."

He faced the Demon Cat squarely. "We _can't_ go. It's a damned blizzard outside!"

A pink tongue appeared in the blackness, and slowly traced sharp, white teeth.

✴✴✴

Eiri eased his number two Mercedes out of the garage. Not his beloved convertible roadster, but the sedan. Heavier. Solider. With killer tires.

And hoped he hadn't pissed off any gods lately.

In the passenger seat, bundled like a miniature grizzly bear, Shuuichi sat with Yushu perched expectantly on his lap. (Under the circumstances, Yuki hadn't dared leave the cat alone with his precious computer.)

The plows hadn't gotten to this residential section yet; fortunately, no one else was insane enough to be out on the roads.

Of course, if they were, he wouldn't be able to see them anyway. He crept down the road, his wipers building piles of snow on either side of the sweep. Fortunately, the store Shuuichi had called was only a handful of kliks away. Once there, the brat could damnwell make the dash inside, while he remained within the heated warmth of the car.

He sighed in relief as he turned onto a previously plowed and sanded street. At least there was a ridge on the roadside by which he could navigate, not to mention getting above five kph.

Still, he remained cautious. It was the worst kind of snow. The snow that melted and immediately refroze beneath the tires. Slippery as hell, once you began to—

A car shot out from a side road, spinning out right in front of them.

Eiri wrenched the wheel and tapped the brakes, throwing the Merc into a controlled skid—straight into the plow's leavings.

They came to a neck-wrenching stop.

The Merc's engine sputtered and quit.

The spinning car straightened out and headed merrily down the road, totally oblivious to the fact that they'd left _them_ in the ditch.

"Fuck!" He slammed his palms against the steering wheel then, rather belatedly, turned to his passengers, finding two wide pairs of eyes staring at him. "You all right?" he asked Shuuichi, who nodded, slowly loosening his death grip on the cat—whose golden eyes stared accusingly at Eiri.

"What?" he demanded of the cat. "It's not _my _fault!"

"Yuki?" Shuuichi asked softly, and Eiri, hearing the slight quiver in his lover's voice immediately forgot the cat, turning on the interior light to inspect Shu's ashen face.

"What is it, brat? You hurt?"

Shuuichi shook his head violently, then, removing his mitten, reached a tentative hand toward Eiri's face. It came away red.

Well...damn.

Eiri flipped the vizor down and inspected a face that looked far more grisly than it felt. From the bloody trail emanating from his temple, he must have hit his head on the side window as the car spun.

"I'm fine, Shu," he said and leaned to give those frozen lips a quick kiss. Then, holding his breath, he turned the key in the ignition. The Merc purred to life. Eiri murmured a quick thanks to whatever god was listening, and slid the car into gear.

The wheels simply spun.

"Fuck!" He turned to his lip-chewing lover. "Wait here."

Getting out of the car, he stared at the snow entangling the rear wheels. Dammit, why hadn't he opted for the all-wheel drive option? He kicked the packed snow free, but even so, he knew it wasn't going to be enough.

He slipped back in behind the steering wheel, powered her up again—with the same results.

He sighed and looked across at the wide-eyed Shuuichi, and swallowed. Hard.

"You're going to have to drive her."

"What? _No!"_

"No option. I've got to push."

"Nonononono—"

He put his hand over the protesting mouth. "No choice, Shu."

It wasn't the first time he'd let his diminutive partner behind the wheel, but he'd sworn, after the last time, never to do it again. Shu could barely see over the steering wheel, let alone control the high-powered engine.

He slid out, hauling Shu across the gear shift and into the driver's seat.

"You can do it, Shu, but you've got to go slow. You've _got_ to ease that clutch out and give the tires a chance to grab. And as soon—as _soon_ as you're free of the snowbank, you shove that clutch right back in and hit the brake. If you hit the brake first and kill the engine, that's okay! I won't yell at you."

Shuuichi chewed his lip. "You promise?"

"I promise." Eiri crossed his fingers, hoping he could keep that promise. "All right, start it up."

Shuuichi pressed the clutch in and turned the key, and the engine hummed to life.

"All right, it's not going anywhere, so while I'm here, you show me what you're going to do."

Fearful eyes lifted to his, then Shuuichi's lips tightened and he reached to slip the car into first. Taking a deep breath, he eased the clutch a notch.

The wheels spun and he jumped, panicked, and shoved the clutch back in.

"It's ok, Shu. That's what's going to happen. I'm going to push from behind. The car will probably rock, and when the wheels catch, it's going to move forward, and I want you to _immediately_ shove that clutch back in. Got it?"

Shu nodded, his small face determined. On the far side of the car, Yushu sat calmly in the passenger's seat.

Eiri moved to the back of the car, set his feet solidly into the bank, his hands on the trunk, took a deep breath and called: "Okay, Shu-chan."

The tires immediately began to spin wildly.

✴✴✴

"Fuck!"

Eiri's voice ripped from behind the car and Shuuichi immediately stomped on both pedals. He started to jump out of the still-running car, then stomped again as the tires again spun wildly. He turned the key off, pulled the break, and jumped out, running to the rear of the car where Eiri's voice filled the night with truly eloquent curses.

"Yuki?"

A stranger's face lifted into the street-light. Amber eyes glittered in a face blood-stained and dripping with dirty snow.

"Oops." Shuuichi tried to wipe the dirt from his dearly beloved's face. Yuki didn't move. Finally:

"Try again. Slowly. _Very_ slowly."

"Uh...would you rather I pushed—"

"_Get in the car!"_

Shuuichi ran back to the driver's seat, took a deep breath and tried again. This time, he was ready. He let the clutch out, just a bit, and the car rocked forward. Once. Twice. On the third time, the tires caught and the car rolled free of the snow bank, and just like Yuki told him, he stomped on the clutch and brake. The car stopped, and he threw it out of gear, turned it off, and set the brake, scrambling back into the passenger seat with Yushu as Yuki stomped up and dropped into the driver's seat.

Several very deep breaths later, Yuki started the car and pulled smoothly forward. Then, amazingly, a quiet: "Very good, Shu," came out of his surly beloved, and Shuuichi, feeling as if the sun had just come out, bounced back into his seat, fastened his seat belt and hugged Yushu to his chest.

Yushu simply hissed and hunkered down on his lap, digging in his claws.

✴✴✴

Eiri pulled up in front of the store, threw the car out of gear and set the brake, leaving her running, saying not a word. Shuuichi scrambled out, leaving Yushu on the seat, and ran inside. Yushu stood on his hind legs, watching, and when Shu had disappeared, dropped down with a sigh and worked his way deliberately over into Eiri's lap.

"You're a pest, you do realize that, don't you?" he said to the black furball, who was kneading his claws in Eiri's wool coat. Yushu leaned his head back, staring up through contentedly slitted eyes, blissing out in the warm air flowing from the vents. Eiri relented, and petted the beast, scratching his scruff and working his fingertips down the spine to the supple tail.

He truly was a most excellent cat. He kept Shuuichi occupied and exercised when Eiri was up to his armpits in story.

Didn't mean Shu wasn't going to help him wash the damned mud off, once they got home.

Shu, of course, wouldn't mind in the least.

Neither would—

Shuuichi bounced out of the store, laden with plastic bags.

"What the hell?" Eiri murmured, but he didn't say a word as the back seat filled with something far more than a few bags of cat treats.

Shuuichi slid in beside him, one bag in hand, and buckled his seat belt before eyeing the cat on Eiri's lap.

"Oh, Yu–shu," he called in his best sing-song voice, and Yushu's head shot up. "Smoo-oo-oo-chies!" He shook a packet and the cat...teleported over to Shu's lap. Shuuichi giggled and ripped the packet open, taking out one heart-shaped tidbit. "Smoo-oo-chie!" he sang, and the cat reared up to bump his head against Shuuichi's chin. Shuuichi giggled again, pressed his lips to the round skull, then held the tidbit high for the cat to stretch after.

Yushu took the bit delicately between his teeth, dropped back down to all fours, and daintily chowed down. Another giggle, another hug, and the entire performance was repeated.

Eiri, realizing he was just sitting there, in the dark, motor running, watching his two precious idiots do their thing, wiped the smile from his face, slid the car into gear, and headed home.

Shuuichi and Yushu curled up contentedly in the passenger seat.

The drive home was uneventful. Eiri, ready for his bed, cut the corner into his drive a degree shorter than usual—

And his left front tire dropped out from under them. The car stopped dead, tilted at an appalling angle.

"_What the hell?"_ Eiri shut the car off and threw himself out of the car and around the front to inspect the damage.

There was a hole. A very large hole, hidden by the heavy snowfall. A hole marked by two small orange cones, also buried in the snow.

The goddamned city had dug a hole in his street and it was going to take a goddamned wrecker to extricate his car.

"Yuki?"

"Out," he said, and when Shu opened his mouth to ask, "_Just get the fuck out of the car and into the house!" _

Shuuichi scrambled out, arms loaded with plastic bags and Yushu. Eiri pulled the keys from the ignition, slammed the door, and tapped the button to lock her up.

✴✴✴

Yushu scrambled up to drape himself around Shuuichi's shoulders as Shuuichi fumbled with his keys and the front door. Not waiting for his pissed as hell lover, he slipped into the condo, toed off his furry snow boots and ran for the kitchen—where his stockinged feet flew out from under him, sending Yushu and him skidding across the floor, bags and all.

Leaving the bags, he scrambled back for the kitchen doorway and poked his nose around the corner. Yushu squeezed up between him and the wall, watching with him as his pissed as hell lover shut the door and threw his keys on the long, narrow table in the entryway. Yuki stared at his beautiful but filthy face in the mirror, cursed softly as he lightly touched the wound on his temple, then bent to remove his Italian leather shoes. Not so soft curses filled the condo as he peeled off soaked stockings.

Shuuichi gulped, exchanged a look with Yushu, and slithered back across the kitchen to the abandoned sacks, seeking the now rather squashed strawberry cake he'd picked up as appeasement for his Yuki for the late night excursion.

Worming his way to his feet, he headed for the bathroom, where the sounds of a pissed as hell Yuki continued, finding Yuki bent over the sink, sluicing his face with water.

He was bare from the waist up.

Shuuichi paused a moment, admiring the view, then deliberately popped the plastic top on the cake box.

Yuki froze.

Shuuichi grinned and dipping his finger into the squashed cake, he edged up behind Yuki to kiss the bare shoulder.

An amber eye looked at him past dripping blond hair.

Shuuichi lifted two cream and strawberry covered fingers.

The eye shifted, became predatory and the next instant, his fingers had disappeared into the world's most beautiful mouth.

Without a word, Yuki took hold of his hand, and using his fingers as a spoon, he dipped them again, then began licking the coating slowly, seductively, off each finger.

"Peace offering?" Yuki asked at last, and Shuuichi grinned.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a bribe."

"A bit chilled, are we?"

"Could use a warmup."

"We'll see what we can do."

Yuki surprised him then, patting his face dry and smearing something on the nearly invisible wound, then heading, not for the bedroom, but for the kitchen.

"What..."

"I want to know what you got."

"Smoochies. And bribes."

That predatory amber eye flashed again at him. "Right. And you needed ten bags for that?"

Shuuichi gulped, ducked around Yuki, trying to beat him to the kitchen, which he did, but not by much.

Not by enough.

Yuki stalked him, cornered him, and calmly lifted the bags from his hands.

"Thought so." he said, looking into the bags.

Shuuichi ducked his head.

"Not just smoochies we were out of, was it?"

Shuuichi squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating a serious row. Yuki had quit work, gone out in the snow, skidded into a snow bank, gotten wounded, and dumped his Mercedes in a hole. And for what?

✴✴✴

"Shuu-uu-ii-ichi." Eiri, retreating silently to the bedroom with one of the store bags in hand, called his pint-sized lover's name in a totally un-cool singsong. And pulling one of the boxes free from the stash: "Po-aw-aw-aw-cki."

A scrambling, skittering, oversized, pink-headed kitten bounced down the hallway and skidded into the room, panting, eager eyes zeroing in on the package in Eiri's hand.

Eiri slowly pulled one of the disgusting pink sticks out of the foil packet, holding it up, just out of reach of Shuuichi's mouth. Shuuichi stretched, and Eiri lifted it a degree higher. "Uh, uh, uh..."

Shuuichi giggled and ducked his head to butt lightly up into Eiri's chin. Eiri chuckled, bent to kiss his forehead, and found soft lips waiting for him instead.

Payment extracted, he lowered the tidbit into Shuuichi's waiting mouth.

FIN

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**A/N:** I tried to find out if the Mercedes Sedan is a front wheel drive, but couldn't find it anywhere, so...just pretend it's rear wheel!

**Reviews:** Wow...again, my thanks to _everyone_ for sharing this with me! **Bakayarona**—regarding details in chapter 3 ("Skates") you are so right! I went in and did a bit of editing on that sequence and added the suggested links at the end of the chapter, so now everyone can see Shu's skates and blades and guards. The loss of figures from competition is totally thanks to the media, and we've seen a huge rise in injuries in the sport as a direct result. Control of the edges means control of the flow into and out from a jump, and control of a spin (which is a surprisingly dangerous maneuver). It's very sad and unnecessary. I'm one who feels they used to be _too_ important (something like forty percent of the whole score) but I very much hated to see them eliminated altogether. They're utterly fascinating to watch. When they aren't worried about perfection, a master of edges can make figures positively sing. (One of the great John Curry's most beautiful routines was based entirely on school figures.) And it is, of course, where the sport gets its name. Some of the patterns made are truly amazing. Couldn't find any internet pix of cool patterns, but if I do, I'll post it in a future CCS. **Tsu: **Hi, there! Anytime...you know where to find me.

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

As always, read, enjoy, love to know what you think, if you have the time.—Vin


	5. Chapter 5

I'm baaa-ack!

Long time no see. Real World kinda got in the way. Lots of writing, just no Gravi. But the other night, the boys began talking again and I thought I'd share the newest chilly adventure. This isn't quite a one-shot, but it's pretty short. Enjoy!

I haven't formatted one of these in a loooong time. Please bear with me while I get it all figured out again.

This is a work of fanfiction based on Gravitation by Maki Murakami. Any similar between it and any future work by her is purely coincidental. (Duh.) 2M owns all the rights to stories and characters, I'm just thankful she lets us play with them.

**Snow Fort: Part One  
**

Party Time?

By Vindaloo

Golden eyes snapped open, the sleek black head lifted from crossed paws.

Yuki Eiri froze, the half-folded shirt drooping from his hands.

"_Tadaima!"_ Rang through the house, riding the gale from vocal chords that never actually _needed _a microphone.

Yushu vanished: a black streak headed for the front door.

Shuuichi was home early.

Eiri finished folding the shirt, pressed it neatly into the suitcase, and reached for the next garment in the pile on the bed, a red sweater, debating whether or not to take it. Winter was taking hold with a vengeance. Snow threatened daily. Layers would likely be in order. Besides, the sweater was a gift from—

"It is I!" That voice that could rouse a hard-on in a dead man filled the bedroom and Eiri lifted his eyes to the mirror to see his pint-sized lover posed heroically in the doorway, an effect only slightly marred by the huge black cat stropping his ankles. "The amazing Shindou-sama, home from the techno-wars!"

Eiri turned and met those sparkling, purple-tinted eyes for real.

"You're home early."

"Yes!" A shift in the stance to another pose, profile this time. "Done! The final track laid as of one hour ago. A whole week early! Shade your eyes lest Shindou Shuuichi's brilliance blind you!"

"You didn't tell me you were running ahead of schedule."

"I figured I'd be tweaking lyrics all week, but I didn't need to. And today..." Shuiichi's wide grin dispelled the hero altogether and he bounced into the room. "Today, I _was_ brilliant. We went through the last three songs, just for practice, you know... and then Hiro disappeared and I went for some water... and then Hiro came back and said we were done. That I couldn't do better if I tried a thousand times! Done!" A giggle as infectious as an infant's filled the air as Shuuichi threw himself onto the bed. "I didn't even know they were taping!"

"And now you're home."

"Yup."

"For a month."

"Yup," Shuuichi rolled over onto his stomach, and looked up at Eiri, batting his eyes. "I think we should order that hot tub."

"Can't afford it." The house had eaten up all their ready cash and he wasn't about to go into—

"Yes we can."

A load of innuendo in that tone.

"Hmph." Eiri finished folding the sweater and tucked it into the suitcase. Damned if he'd take the bait. Likely the band's album had gone platinum, or something.

"Hmph?" Shuuichi jerked up to sit crosslegged, hands on hips. "What's that supposed to—" His eyes dropped, took in the suitcase and widened ever-so-slightly.

"Where are we going, Eiri?"

'Eiri.' The brat was worried. Normally, it was 'Yuki,' the address he'd used from the beginning of their relationship. Yushu, always attuned to Shuuichi's moods, oozed into Shu's lap, pushing his head against Shu's chest, and Shu hugged the big cat close, still staring up at Eiri.

"Not 'we.' Me. Solo."

A hard swallow. A tiny: "Where?"

"New York." No sense avoiding it.

"No! Not without me!"

"Never with you, Shu-chan," he responded calmly. "Never again." Not without an army of security.

The playful child vanished. Full lips pressed tight together. Argument brewed behind lowered black brows.

"Why?" Time was, it would be a whine. Not any more. This was a man demanding answers.

"Think, Shu. Think what happens every damn time. How many times have you been abducted or practically killed in that damned hell hole?"

"It's not my fault!"

"No. But I'm damned if I'll risk you any more. Not there. Not until you learn the damn language at least well enough to yell for help!"

"HELP!"

He winced. Damn, the brat had a set of lungs. But it _was _recognizable English. Barely.

"Not good enough." And before his mouth opened for another protest: "It's business, Shu. Just business. My American publisher has hired a new translator and they want my approval _before_ they pay for it."

"So why don't they email it to you?"

"Hell if I know. It's the CEO's idea. She lo-huvs my work."

"Yeah. Right."

"She's sixty if she's a day, Shu. She probably wants to take me to dinner and talk books all night."

He winced, just at the thought.

"Yeah. Right."

"Cut it, Shu. My agent says they want me to meet this translator she thinks I should go. It seems they've made this visit a requirement before they'll take another contract."

Shuuichi slumped back into the pillows, reluctant acceptance on his face. He'd been on the receiving end of Eiri's Translation Temper Tantrums often enough to understand the importance of this meeting.

"Shit, Yuki," he muttered, staring sullenly down at his crossed arms, "I don't get it. You speak English like a native. Why don't you just do the translations yourself?"

"Because I wrote the fucking thing once, and I damnwell wrote it to be read in Japanese!" Eiri felt the old frustration rising in him, felt his fists clench, and fought it back. This was one artistic battle Shuuichi would never begin to comprehend. Shuuichi, who tossed English and Japanese phrases around with equal nonsensicality in his lyrics, mixing and matching according to some bizarre formula all his own.

A formula that, strangely, made sense, on a gut level ... as long as you didn't think too hard.

He'd learned that, after all these years together. Learned to accept Shu's art for what it was, rather than basing it on his own standards. Accepted by not listening. At least to the words. It was Shu's voice that captivated him. It always had been. The energy, the tone, the sheer vitality—

"Yuki, your shirt ..."

He blinked, looked down at the garment he held, finding it twisted and ripped, then met Shu's earnest gaze.

"I'm sorry," Shu said, in a tone that matched his gaze. "I shouldn't have said that. I mean, I know you choose your kanji real careful and all, to make it, well, sing and all, and I know that English has all those weird tenses and shit and so the translations get all screwy. And I can see where it would be hard for you to rethink it and so it's easier to have somebody else do it..."

For a moment, all he could do was stare. _He'd _learned. Maybe Shu had as well.

"But...just 'cuz they ruin the poetry, doesn't mean the story's not still good, does it?"

Once again, he'd underestimated his pint-sized lover. The anger drained from him and the shirt dripped from fingers gone lax.

"So," the smile was back in Shu's voice. "Problem solved. You'll go to New York on their ticket, meet with this publisher, tell them you're happy...and we'll go paint the town red!"

"We?" He snapped out of his reverie to find Shuuichi leaning up against him, swaying suggestively. "Not. On. Your. Life."

"YUUUUUUKIIIII!"

"_No!"_

"I wanna goooooo!"

The Whine—in full flower. Eiri rolled his eyes as Shuuichi threw himself into the suitcase, curling impossibly to fit into the space and grabbing the lid to pull it over on top of him. Yushu, who had been sitting at the foot of the bed watching calmly, longtime veteran of Shuuichi's mercurial mood shifts that he was, came to life as well. Convinced this was some new game, he jumped on top of the suitcase and began attacking anything that escaped...including Shu's fingers.

Infectious giggles filled the room.

So much for packing.

Yuki grabbed the handle and heaved, sending Shu and his furry familiar flying along with his clothes. Shu scrambled up and made a diving leap at him, and he found himself lying on the floor with his arms held above his head.

"I'm not letting you go," Shu's voice panted in his ear. "For once, you're between books and I'm between albums and tours. I'm going to tie you to the bed and have my way with you for the next four weeks!"

Yuki grunted and heaved, reversing their positions in one smooth motion. "You and what army, brat?" he murmured, before leaning over to capture that panting mouth with his own.

Shuuichi resisted for about a millisecond before sinking into the kiss with a groan.

Releasing Shu's hands but not his mouth, Eiri hauled him up to the bed and began to work his clothes off. Several layers of clothes, dammit. He released that mouth long enough to yank a sweatshirt off over the (naturally dark—for once) head, then buried his face in the kid's neck, inhaling deeply, getting his fix, a fix that would have to last several days, perhaps a long as a week.

Shuuichi's hands, at work on Eiri's clothing, paused.

"Yuki?" he whispered. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Eiri growled and flipped the kid over. Damned if he'd admit how fucking _good_ the brat smelled to him. Freshly showered, dripping with sweat and stage makeup, sun-baked ... he didn't give a damn. He could bury himself in that scent and never come up for air.

But damned if he'd tell Shuuichi that. Give him yet one more key to his psyche?

Hell no.

But as he pulled the jelly from the side table and began prepping that now-sweaty body, he thought again of all those days away, all those days of dealing with idiots who controlled his career, of memories he could never quite escape awaiting him in America, of the people who would undoubtedly demand time with him once he arrived...

And suddenly, it wasn't Shu's skinny backside he wanted to see.

He rolled onto his back and waited expectantly. Shuuichi, one step short of coming, lay face-down beside him, whimpering loudly.

"Oh, shut up and climb aboard," Eiri growled, and poked him. "C'mon, brat. I want to see your face, all right?"

The whimpering stopped and one eye appeared behind the shock of dark hair. "My ... face?"

Eiri grunted, and gave the brat a crumb. "I need something to fantasize about, all right? Unless you _want_ me to find some blonde bimbo to fill the nights—"

Shuuichi landed on his stomach. Hard. His small, weeping cocked bobbing between them.

"Easy!"

"Sorry. Sorry." Shu said quickly, and rising on his knees, he reached back to guide Eiri into him, easing down with a sigh, his eyes drifting shut. For a moment, just a moment, that Look came on his face, the Look that said he'd entered some special world into which only Eiri held the key.

And then...an alien took over his body. He began to writhe up and down, and his face twisted into some hideous caricature of some anime porn character, flopping side to side and back, his eyes closed and mouth hanging open, lips pursed.

Drooling.

Without a word, Eiri thrust upward. Hard.

_His _Shu-chan returned on a yelp and stared at him accusingly.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Shu pouted. "Giving you something to fantasize about."

"God, you're an idiot."

Clamping them together, he rolled over again, taking control. And as he worked, both the porn star wannabe and the pouting brat faded, giving way to that look of sheer otherwhere joy.

"That's what I want," he whispered, as he followed Shu into that world where not even Yushu could follow.

# # # # #

_...so get some rest, brat, and if it snows, just keep the damn driveway clear._

Eiri folded the note and set it, along with the rose, on the pillow beside the softly snoring Shuuichi. He'd ordered that rose, along with the five others sitting in the refrigerator, when the call had come through from New York. He'd intended to pick Shu up and take him to dinner and explain. Shu would have been so off-balance from the unexpected gesture, he'd have taken the news in stride.

So much for his carefully laid plan. He ran a fingertip along the smooth jaw and smiled, safe to do, with that snore assuring his secret safe, then headed for the door, fastening his overcoat against the night chill.

End Part One

# # # #

This crazy thing dropped my changes! yes, this is just part one. There'll be...probably four in this little story. Anyway, thanks, everyone, for reading!

It would snow before morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Part two gets us to New York, where Eiri finds something he never quite bargained for.

This is a work of fanfiction based on Gravitation by Maki Murakami. Any similarity between it and any future work by her is purely coincidental. (Duh.) 2M owns all the rights to stories and characters, I'm just thankful she lets us play with them.

**Snow Fort: Part Two**

New York

by Vindaloo

"'_She walks out of the water. Her blond hair glittering in the sunlight, like Venus from her shell, the waves lapping at her feet like a whirlpool—'_ Like a _what?"_ Eiri slammed the manuscript down on the table, and jerked to his feet, glaring down at the woman across the table. "_Venus? _What the hell is going on here? This doesn't even make sense. You drag me all the way to New York for _this?"_

She met his gaze calmly, not the least intimidated. Why should she be? He was small fry in her book. A big name in the Japanese market; a pain in the butt, bottomlist import for her. The only reason they indulged him was the fact that her superior happened to be a fan of his work...in the original Japanese.

And that superior's daughter was an even bigger fan of Shuuichi's. He'd never told the brat that one...

She smiled. Faintly. Blonde. Athletic. Perfect makeup. Perfect tan. Perfect...perfect. Everything he used to lust after. Now...he just wanted to throttle her for wasting his time. He'd left a horny and available Shu for _this?_

_Bullshit! _

"No, Mr. Yuki. That was your old translator's effort. We brought you to New York for this." She took a single sheet of paper from the stack in front of her and handed it across.

He snatched it from her hand.

"'_She arose from the raging surf, her golden hair gleaming in a stray shaft of sunlight. A goddess of water and fire gathering the very . . . forces . . . of . . . nature . . ._'"

Eiri sank slowly back into his chair, unable to take his eyes from the printed page. It was . . . good. It was better than good. It was what he'd have written, if he'd been so inclined to shift his thoughts into English.

_Exactly_ what he'd have written.

Damn.

"What—" To his embarrassment, his voice squeaked. He stopped and tried again. "What's this guy doing translating? Why the hell isn't he writing his own shit?"

"What makes you assume it's a man?"

He shrugged. "No reason."

"Well, it so happens, it's not. And I have no idea the answer to your question, but I'd think you'd be glad she wasn't. Would you care to meet her? Ask her yourself?"

She didn't even ask if he was satisfied. Likely his face betrayed him. But...meet her? That made him pause. Would he? Did he want to risk meeting someone, a female someone, who could write... what he'd just read? _Could_ he meet her and not be fascinated? Or... jealous?

"I'd like to think about it."

"Fine. Just don't take too long thinking. We'd like to get this book of yours into production. We've got a slot—"

"Of course you do," he said sourly. Another filler spot.

"We're planning on serious promotion this time, Mr. Yuki. Your last novel caused quite the controversy. A well-known critic who actually reads Japanese read both and called it a scandal. We're planning on making up for our mistakes... including a reissue of your complete backlist with revised translations by Ms Johnson. "

He grunted. A publisher actually doing the right thing? That was a first. This critic must be someone with some serious clout.

"Don't tell me this is the first you've heard of it."

He shrugged. "Frankly, woman, I don't give a damn, one way or another. I never read my reviews. Don't give a shit. I just want something out there with my name on it to resemble what I actually wrote."

She tipped her head and tapped a finger to her lips. "Interesting. Well, Mr. Yuki, I take it we are in agreement on the translator."

"We are."

"Excellent." She stood up. "Let me know in the morning if you wish to meet Ms Johnson. In the meantime, I'll have the legal department draw up the papers."

# # # # #

"_Now, take your hand and let it drift slowly down between those beautiful pecks. —Slower!"_

"How do you know how far I've gotten?"

"_I know you. Now...let's start again."_

Eiri let that luscious, suggestive voice drift over him, not really listening, letting Shu play his phone games. Back in Japan, Shuuichi would be lying in bed, naked, with a picture of him, also naked, on the bedroom's big screen TV.

Sometimes, Shu was so easy to please.

But then, so was he, normally. But tonight...tonight his thoughts kept drifting back to that translator, and that single page of text he'd brought back to the room with him. Ten times, he'd read it over, and twice as many times gone over it in his own head. Why in hell wasn't she being published herself? Or perhaps he was just assuming. Perhaps she was and this was just part of the deal she had with the publisher, since she was bi-lingual. The fact he didn't recognize the name...Jessica Johnson... meant squat. He rarely read fiction these days, and never in English—

"_Yuuuukiiiii!"_

He jerked back to his hotel room, found the cell phone lying on the floor, leaned over and swept it up.

"Yeah, I'm here."

Silence. Then. _"What's going on, Yuki?"_

"What are you talking about?"

"_You're ignoring my sweet nothings. What's going on?" _A pause, then: _"Who're you with?"_

Good God. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm with you, Shu-chan."

"_Don't you 'Shu-chan' me, you two-timing—"_

"I'm alone, OK? I'll email you a picture."

"_She just hid in the closet."_

"Cut it out. We're long past this."

"_Never. Can't trust you out of my sight. I'm hopping the first flight—"_

"The hell you are. Quit making excuses to join me here. I'm just distracted."

"_Hmph. No kidding."_

"Business, Shu. They ... found me a hell of a translator."

"_Why didn't you say something? That's great! When are you coming home?"_

"Not for a few days. They're talking promo and they want my input."

"_Promo. A tour? In the US? When? Can I come?"_

"You'll have to pay for it yourself."

"_As long as I'm with you to chase the bimbos off."_

He chuckled and reached for the Scotch lying forgotten on his bedside table. "Y'know, brat, I like the sound of that. My pint-sized bodyguard."

"_Think I can't?"_

"Know you can. You scare hell out of me all the time."

"_Liar. —So, tell me about the translator."_

"You're uncommonly interested in my affairs these days."

"_I'm trying not to be so self-centered. Hiro says—_"

"Hiro can mind his own damned business."

"_No. He's right. It feels good to know. Like I'm part of it, y'know?"_

"In other words, it's still all about you."

A completely unselfconscious ripple of laughter emerged from the phone along with the _thump_ as Shu bounced upright, legs crossed, completely comfortable in his nudity.

God, he could picture—

"_Yup. So...tell me all about him."_

He gathered his wayward thoughts. "Her. And I don't know much, yet. I'm meeting her tomorrow."

"_But she's good? She ... got the melody right?"_

He chuckled. "Yeah, Shu. She got the melody right."

"_That's good, Yuki. That's really, really good."_

No more than that. No more was necessary. The kid understood. Completely, in his own weird way. Eiri smiled into the empty room.

A pause that grew into an extended silence. Then a very small: _"Uh, Yuki?"_

"Yeah?"

"_D'you mind if we finish what we started now?"_

He chuckled, took another sip of the twenty-four-year-old Macallen... hell, as long as the publishing company was paying the tab...and, putting the phone on speaker, set phone and Scotch back on the table and lay back into his pillows.

"Sounds like a plan."

# # # # #

Here went nothing.

Eiri took a deep breath, set a hand to the door latch. He'd told his editor—damn, what was her name? The damned publishing house had changed the position three times since his first book—to go ahead and set up a meeting, but he had no idea what he was going to say.

He wanted this translator, damned if he didn't, but there was something ... that prose reeked of skill. That didn't mean the ability to put together story was there, but if it was ... the woman should be spending her time writing her own shit, not making his ... sing.

He pressed the handle down and with a loud, at least to his ears, _click_, the door swung open.

It was dark inside, the insulating shades drawn as if a visual presentation were forthcoming, but the screen was still tucked into the ceiling.

What the hell?

He frowned into the silent room. As his eyes adjusted, he discovered a figure, at the far corner of the table, limned by the single shaft of light piercing a small opening in the magnetic seal between the drapes.

Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic. He searched the wall beside the door, found the switch and pressed the slider switch, bringing the lights up abruptly.

A soft grunt and the woman lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

"Jessica Johnson?" he asked, regretting this meeting more by the moment.

Another grunt which he took to be acknowledgment.

"I'm—"

"God, I know. I _know._" A hard swallow that worked the thin throat below that masking hand. "Do you... mind?"

Suddenly, he knew. It wasn't melodrama, it was—

"You've got a hangover."

A third grunt.

He began to laugh, pulled out a chair and threw himself down, crossing his legs comfortably.

"Been there. Done that. Not generally the night before an important business meeting." At least not for several years. "Mind telling me why?"

Another hard swallow and the fingers parted slightly, giving him a glimpse of soft brown eyes rimmed expertly with smokey makeup. Below the fingers, the face blushed hotly.

"Yes."

"Ah." He let that single syllable rest between them for a moment. Then: "Because of me?"

"Yes."

"Because you need this job?"

"No."

That surprised him.

"Why, then?"

A long pause. Then, the eye closed, and the head sank forward into crossed arms. A tiny groan arose from the graceful lump.

Well, wasn't this a royal waste of time?

"Hell." Eiri rose to leave. "I was going to ask you why you were wasting your time translating, but obviously, that's all you're capable of. Fine. I'll sign the agreement and you've got the—"

"Because meeting an idol is a fucking nightmare!"

He paused, hand on the door. That had been in Japanese.

"Ah. Dialogue." He sat back down. "So, I'm your idol?" He responded in the same language. "America must be extremely short on deities these days."

Dark eyes met his through a fall of tastefully highlighted, dark brown hair. "Don't toy with me, Yuki-san."

"Why not? You're jerking me around. Just thought I'd return the favor."

"Damn. You're just as maddening as Sharon described you. —I mean it. Ever since I read your first novel, I've wondered why I ever bothered trying. Everything I'd written seemed... trivial. Childish. When the opportunity came to translate your work, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

"I told you, you've got the job—"

"I don't think I want it."

His heart stopped. He swallowed hard. "You're—" His voice caught like Shu's after a good cry. He mastered it firmly and tried again. "You're kidding, right?"

The words came in a flood. "I can't handle it. What if I screw it up? I've been wondering, ever since I sent in the sample, what was I thinking? I can't possibly do your prose justice and—"

"Get over it." Eiri broke in ruthlessly.

Those dark eyes blinked at him. The mouth below opened and closed like a koi searching for food.

"You know damn well you nailed that translation. You're speech is completely fluent. You know you could do this in your sleep. Quit giving me this insecurity act. Take pride in your obvious ability."

"I—"

"Can it. I have only one question."

"I—"

"Where's your own work? I looked last night and there's nothing—"

"I haven't published yet."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not good enough. I thought it was, then I read your first novel and realized how utterly inferior—"

"Fuck that. Don't you know not to compare yourself to anyone? Be proud of—"

"But what you wrote... that's what I heard in my head. Oh, the story was different to be sure, but the style, the voice...the exquisite word choice...that's what I strove for and could never attain. Then I read yours and—"

"What? You write in Japanese?"

"No. But when I read yours, I hear it... both ways. In my head. At the same time... damn, I'm not saying this—"

"I want to read it."

Those stunning eyes just blinked.

"I want to read your work. I want it before tonight. No more editing, no messing with it. I want to see for myself."

"But—"

"These are the conditions for my signature on that contract. I want to read your original work. I want to know the mind of the man doing the translation."

"But—"

"Do you want the job?"

"Yes! But— I think, anyway. But—"

"So, go home and email me your most recent." He pulled out a card and scribbled his private email on the back, flipped it down the length of the table. "And meet me for dinner. Tonight."

"But... why?"

He stood up. "Because I don't want some hero-worshipper doing the translation any more than I want an indifferent idiot with a Japanese dictionary. I want to know where you are in your own head before I start letting you mess with mine. So...if you want the job, send me that sample."

"H–how much?"

"If you've got a finished novel, send me that."

"I—I write in English."

"I should hope so." He paused, his hand on the door, and glanced back. "Damned if I want to compete with you on my own turf, ... _Mr. _Johnson."

He pressed down on the handle and left, resisting the urge to glance back and see the reaction of one of the more convincing cross-dressers he'd ever encountered.

End: Part two

# # # # #

Next: What's in a Muse: Eiri finds inspiration ... and deadly distraction ... in a fellow author's work. Shu gets pissed...but not necessarily for the reason you think.

Just a few responses to some of the reviews. I'm sadly behind! To everyone who's reviewed since I began posting this...my goodness, almost four years ago? Thanks so much. I love when these little stories happen and I'm delighted you all do too.

**Roxas, Empress and KyoHana**...it's wonderful to be back. I'm glad you haven't all forgotten me. I don't have a lot of time to write...I've got my own books, plus the covers and conversions now, but I do love playing with these two. I'm hoping they're going to start talking to me again. This one has been brewing for two years but just never "happened." It finally turned into a story, which I take as a good sign!

**Kenny'sSC**: How do I put this...It's not that I'm smart, I'm just old. :D I've had most of these things happen to me and learned the hard way. The ending of this current story is something I honestly considered doing two years ago when Spokane got dumped on by the white stuff! And I took up figure skating a few years ago...Love it.

**Moon**: as always...thank you. I frankly love these characters and while I enjoy some of the stories that give them this crazy, turbulent future, and enjoy torturing them myself in the early days of their relationship, I like to think of them as winning at least some of the battles they so bravely fight. Doesn't mean their lives become easy, just different.

I figured _Silent Night _was both the sort of simple but beautiful melody I like to associate with Shu, but also the sort Yuki would throw at him because of all the Ls. :D It makes his mastery of it truly significant. I should really have worked that in... But it's also got the lusciously simple descant the makes their little duet very real in my head. Yuki's voice actor (in either language, but esp in Japanese) has such a luscious voice (hmmm...that seems to be my adjective de jour) that I have no trouble at all hearing it!

**Emalathe:** Yushu is something of an amalgam of all my black furry familiars. I've had three, all of whom were special companions and had very long lives. (Have I mentioned, I'm an old person? :D) I'm glad he rings true.


	7. Chapter 7

Part three: Eiri's found a whole new kind of soul mate. His excitement over his new prodigy brings back old pain and creates a new problem with his little back home baka.

This is a work of fanfiction based on Gravitation by Maki Murakami. Any similar between it and any future work by her is purely coincidental. (Duh.) 2M owns all the rights to stories and characters, I'm just thankful she lets us play with them.

**Snow Fort: Part Three**

Muses

by Vindaloo

"_He?" _Shu's voice held a hint of ... was it anxiety? _"_Ms_ Johnson is a_ guy_?"_

"Yeah," Eiri said, only half listening. Most of his attention was for the screen in front of him.

"_Why?"_

That was the question, wasn't it? He hadn't gotten the vibe of a trans-sexual in the making, or a cos-player indulging in an elaborate game. It had been quite... natural. Earnest. And yet... resigned? Was that what he'd gotten? And thinking about the manuscript on his laptop...

"I suspect it's because he knows that what he's written has a better chance of making it in the American publishing houses if it's coming from a woman."

"_That's just... weird. —I think you'd better find somebody else to translate, Yuki. He's obviously a nutter."_

He barely registered the words, falling into the written words before him. It was the same beautiful prose, but stilted somehow. Jesse was trying too hard, that was what. He glanced at the date stamp of the file and growled in annoyance even as he brought up his email program.

_Send me something older. Right now._

"_Yuki? Yuuuuukiiiiii!"_

"I've got to go, Shu."

"_What? Nooooo!"_

"Business, Shu." He responded almost mechanically. "Don't go all jealous on me. I've got to follow through on this. I want him as my translator. I _really _want him. But I don't want to ruin him either. He's too damned good..."

A return email. With attachment. He opened it up and was several paragraphs into it before he realized there'd been nothing from Shu for all that time.

Silence. Not what he expected. Not from Shindou Shuuichi.

"Shu?"

"I'm here."

Flat. Distant. Great. The brat was pissed.

"_Business_, Shu. That's all. Trust me, okay? But I've got to go now. Got to concentrate. Figure out how not to ruin a serious talent."

"Serious...talent." The words hung ominously between them. "Ruin. Right. Goodbye, Eiri."

And before he could answer, the line went dead.

Great. He'd hurt the brat's feelings. Well, sometimes the world didn't revolve around Shindou Shuuichi. But the thoughts were distant as he fell further into the story dated two years ago... before one Jessica Johnson encountered novels by one Yuki Eiri.

Damned if he hadn't been right to ask.

# # # # #

"I've got a proposal," Eiri said across the candle-lit table. Snow was falling outside the thermal window; inside it was warm, in every sense of the word.

"Proposal?" Jesse looked up, his brown eyes, free of makeup this evening, earnest and a bit afraid.

"I'll sign the contract if you'll promise me to submit _Vandersil's Dream_ to Sharon."

"_Vandersil's..._ but I can't! It's... what about _Sylvia?_ That's so much better. I learned so much—"

"You learned to ape me. You've got to free yourself of this notion that we think alike. I'm suitably impressed with what you do with my work, make no mistake, but you've twisted your own voice in the doing. I want to see you get it back and if I sign that contract, I'm staying here until you have it under control, so that you can still do my bloody translations _and_ your own work."

"But—"

"No buts. Yes or no. I'm offering to work with you. I'm offering to help you get that talent of yours under your own control, not some misguided notion of what's 'better.' I'm telling you right now that given a choice, I'd read _Vandersil _before I read anything of my own. The simple fact is, as a conscientious writer you're always going to second guess yourself. You'll always see the flaws in your own work and wish you could rewrite it one more time. And when faced with that rarity, a story by a truly gifted writer in control of his or her language, it's going to seem more perfect than your own, because you see only what they've released for public consumption, not what they were striving to achieve."

"I–I see what you're saying, but _Sylvia_ is so much more—"

"So much less. You've adopted my phrasing."

Eyes flashed. "Hell if I have. You write in Japanese. How could I—"

"You've written your own work like a translation of mine. Fuck, go back and read both of them and see which one resonates with your gut rather than your head. You've begun overthinking. You're editing in your rough draft—"

"That's not a rough draft! I've been over that at least seven—"

"Lucky number seven. Don't you get it? I can see your edits. I can see the complete lack of spontaneity throughout the entire damn process. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get you _back_ to _Vandersil _quality." Eiri reached into his pocket and drew out a single sheet of paper, neatly folded, and held it out imperatively.

Jesse eyed it with a curious mix of hunger and reluctance, then his mouth tightened and he snapped it out of Eiri's fingers.

The salads arrived and Eiri calmly began eating. Jesse seemed oblivious as he unfolded the sheet and began reading.

Dark eyes widened. And widened more. Finally, they lifted to meet his.

"This isn't mine..."

"It sure as hell ain't mine."

"But..."

"I changed three words and the punctuation. Broke a few paragraphs up. Moved one paragraph down about three. That's _all_ I did."

Another silence as he read, his brow furrowed.

"How long since you read the original?" Eiri asked finally.

A shrug. "A year. Two, maybe."

"You've lost yourself." Eiri took a slow sip of wine. "I can help you find it again, if you're game."

"Without losing my ability to translate your work?"

That had him worried. "I don't know. I fucking well hope so."

"What's in it for you?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know. I just know I don't want to be responsible for the death of real talent."

A pause that centered around the demise of half his glass of red wine. Then: "Where do I start?"

Eiri lifted a brow: "Never put on another skirt as long as you live."

There was a long, a very long, silence on the other end of the phone.

"Shu?"

If he couldn't hear the soft breathing, he'd believe the line had gone dead. Finally:

"_You didn't want to be responsible for the death of real talent."_

Said as a statement. And completely without intonation.

"_Sorry, Eiri. I'm not in the mood tonight."_

Not in the mood? What the hell. _He_ was fired. Night for Shu and an early morning hard-on for him. Well... he glanced at the clock... maybe not _that_ early. Guess it depended on how late one went to bed.

The sun had been touching the eastern sky.

Damn... what a session. He'd called Shu to try and get some sleep before meeting Jesse for a late lunch and now...this.

"I suppose I shouldn't expect you to understand."

More silence.

"_Just what is it I don't I understand, Eiri?"_

"The excitement of working with a mind hungry for input. Eager to be helped. Jesse has all the pieces, he just hadn't completely put them together. A few more days and he'll be set. Anything else I can do for him can be done by email and phone."

"_A few more days."_ Shu repeated, still in that flat tone. _"Email and phone."_

"Oh for God's sake, Shu, give me a break. I've never had this kind of creative exchange before. I'm learning almost as much as he is, by seeing him change and grow. It's exciting."

"_I can tell."_

"What is it you want from me?"

Another silence.

"_I suppose I shouldn't expect you to understand."_

Ooo, the brat was getting tricky, throwing his own words back at him.

"Understand what? That you want me home? I'll get there, you damned selfish, clueless brat. We'll still have a week to screw ourselves silly—"

"_A week. Your stay is getting longer by the second."_

"Maybe more. I can't predict the creative process."

"_I suppose you can't. It is ... unpredictable, isn't it?"_

Dammit, what was going on? Three days of forced celibacy and the brat was going pod on him.

"_You think I don't get it. You're excited because he's listening to you. Learning from you and what you have to offer him creatively."_

"And what he has to offer me."

"_Of course. How could I possibly overlook that." _Another pause, this time for a deep breath. _"Goodbye, Eiri."_

"Good—Dammit, Shu, _wait!"_

For an instant he thought he'd lost him, but a caught breath on the other end proved otherwise. He was crying! Fuck. Shu hadn't cried for anything but happy for over a year.

"What is it you want from me!" Dammit, he never shouted. But he did now, into that unresponsive silence, angry and frustrated at having his creative high blasted into ashes.

The silence this time was long and drawn out, and he did nothing more to prompt it. The brat could damnwell come clean. Finally:

"_Clueless, am I? And selfish. I can't possibly comprehend what you're experiencing. God, Eiri, when was the last time you listened, really listened, to my songs? When was the last time you read, _really_ read, your own work? Until you do, don't bother calling me again." _

This time, the silence was broken by a dial tone.

# # # # #

"What's the matter?" Jesse's soft question failed to draw Eiri out of Editorial Mode.

"With this?" he asked abruptly, lifting the stack of paper and letting it drop again to the table. "How the hell should I know? I've just started—"

"With you."

"Nothing." He withdrew farther into the manuscript, closing out Jesse, the hotel room and the towering buildings of downtown Manhattan, finding, as he always had, escape in the ever-fascinating puzzle that was the written word turned into story.

Jesse wrote high fantasy, as different from Eiri's work as you could get, which was good, in one sense, because it meant it would be easier for him to transition back and forth between translating Eiri's work and writing his own, but it also meant Eiri had to learn to think differently about what made a story work—

The fantasy vanished as the stack of papers disappeared.

He growled and tried to grab them back, but Jesse was rising to his feet, manuscript in hand.

"Thank you, sensei. I have more than enough to—"

"Where are you going?"

"Home. You have your own life. Something is obviously wrong and you need to—"

"My _life _is_ my_ business. Right now, we're talking about _your _work."

"I'm serious, Eiri. I don't want any more input. I'm very grateful, but for two days now you've been avoiding _something_ by pouring all your energy into _my_ manuscript. We're not talking at all, you're just changing my prose. I _see_ what you're doing and why—thank God for that first session, or I'd be damned clueless. But I don't need you to do any more. It's my work, not yours, and I want to discover the changes myself, not have you hand them to me on a platter—"

"I'm not."

A little smile. "Yes, Eiri, you are." His free hand lifted as if to touch his face, then dropped. "As you'd realize if you were the same man I had dinner with Tuesday night." His ridiculously handsome face twisted with sadness. "I wish you'd confide in me. Something's happened. You're so... focused and untouchable."

Eiri closed his eyes, shutting out that insidiously attractive face, a face linked to a mind at once so attuned to his and alive with creative potential. He was afraid, so very afraid, that Shu was right, that he was staying here for reasons other than business.

And he didn't want that. Shu didn't deserve it. Shu had worked so damn hard, put up with so damn much. And _he,_ Yuki Eiri, wasn't the broken fool he'd been in the beginning. He _wasn't_, dammit.

Those smooth fingers had found his face. He blinked and looked up to meet deeply sympathetic eyes.

"Cynthia was right," Jesse murmured. "You're lonely. So lonely."

Lonely? How could anyone be lonely, who lived with Shindou Shuuichi?"

"More than that, I see I'm not the only one who's lost himself."

Huh?

Those fingers began a tingling path along his jaw. "It's that... singer, isn't it? Your... musician friend."

Something in him flared at the subtly derisive tone in that smooth voice and he drew back from that space-intruding touch. "He's my _partner, _Mr. Johnson. My husband, if the law would allow it. And a damned fine artist in his own right."

A shrug. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. But he does seem a strange companion for someone like you. So ... frivolous, somehow."

"If by that you mean by that so full of life he could power a city with his excess energy, I'll have to agree with you. If you mean in his commitment to his chosen field, that, I won't allow. I'll never tell him, but I've never known anyone to work harder, both in the creation and the execution. _Frivolous _he most definitely is not."

He couldn't believe he was defending Shu. People spouted this crap about his pint-sized lover all the time. He'd always ignored it...which drove Shu crazy. Shu listened. Shu let himself be hurt, because Shu lacked arrogance. Oh, he talked a good game, but he never had learned to trust himself...

Except when he was on stage.

But was that still true? It seemed there'd been something different when he'd come home this last time. A self awareness that wasn't filled with uncertainty. But _Jesse _didn't know that. And something in him couldn't handle hearing this person talk that way about _his_ Shu.

"Cynthia was right to be worried. The wonder is that you've managed to continue writing so beautifully, despite his destructive influence."

Destructive? Shu? Impossible.

"Who the hell is this Cynthia?"

"You don't know the CEO's name? Your greatest fan in America? Besides myself, of course."

Oh. That Cynthia. "So... that's how you got the job. Sleeping with the boss, are you?"

Jesse drew back. "How unkind you are."

Eiri shrugged. "If the shoe fits..."

"It doesn't. We met at a Japanese reading club. We became friends. We talked about your books and she asked me to do the sample translation. But she's worried about you, Eiri. Thanks to her daughter, she's finely attuned to this... insidious influence and is striving to protect the work she loves."

"Insidious influence. Shu."

Jesse's chin lifted defiantly. "Yes."

"Thinks my work has suffered, does she?"

"Suffered? No. Changed? Absolutely. She's worried where that change will lead."

"And she sent you, all primed and attractive, to... what... cure me? Come between me and this evil influence?"

"No!"

"I think you're being just the slightest bit disingenuous, Mr. Johnson." He rose to his feet. "I think it's time for me to go back home."

"But—"

"Oh, I'll still sign the contract. I have every confidence in your ability, and I'm certain you and Cynthia will make an excellent team. I'll even continue to work with you, if that's what you want... from Japan. Where I live with someone I... _love_ very much." God. He'd said it and hadn't choked. "I... appreciate the concern." Nevermind it made him want to throw up. "But my _life _is and always shall be my own. My writing even more so. If _Cynthia_ doesn't like where it's headed, she can stop signing my contracts."

He headed for the door.

"Eiri?" The plaintive tone made him look back. "Did I read you that incorrectly? Did you feel nothing for me? Believe me... that... wasn't part of the plan. I just... I thought... I got the feeling that you..."

He sighed, and let himself remember the good parts of the last week, the looks, the tone of voice, the random contacts... not all one-sided... and gave Jesse the benefit of the doubt. "It's possible, had I never met Shu, that we might have had something."

"Then why—"

Why? On a sudden realization: "Because, Mr. Johnson, without Shu, there'd have been nothing in me to give. You might have been another casual fling, but nothing more."

End Part Three

# # # # #

Next: Part Four: Homecoming...for real. Sorry about the confusion. I ended up splitting that last chapter because it got too long. As for the next part...Bet you've been wondering why this qualified as a CCS (Cotton Candy Snow) adventure. Finally...it justifies its inclusion! We have snow, we have feel good fluff...and Eiri has a wakeup call.

thanks to everyone for reviewing and thanks to those visiting my other stories!


	8. Chapter 8

Part four: Bet you've been wondering why this qualified as a CCS adventure. Finally...it justifies its inclusion! We have snow. We have fluff. We have cuddles...what more can you ask?

FF drives me nuts. What's it done to all my scene spacers...in all my old stories! ARGH!

Big news! My cover is done, the edits are done and the free sample is up. My vamp book is finally going to see publication! (Snoopy dance!)

This is a work of fanfiction based on Gravitation by Maki Murakami. Any similar between it and any future work by her is purely coincidental. (Duh.) 2M owns all the rights to stories and characters, I'm just thankful she lets us play with them.

**Snow Fort: Part Four**

Home Again

by Vindaloo

"_Gomen. The magnificent Shindou-san cannot come to the phone. The snow awaits his shovel. A message left might be answered... after the spring thaws."_

"Shu? Shu, _please _pick up the phone."

Dammit, Yuki Eiri did _not_ beg. But somehow, he needed, _needed_ to hear the brat's voice. That parting exchange with Jesse had shaken him. Badly.

"C'mon, Shu. You said to read, to listen. I'll do that. All the way home, but I need to talk to you, now. It's important."

So his writing had changed? He supposed it had. He rarely killed off a major player these days, let alone his primary protagonist. Some endings were almost happy. But dying wasn't as attractive an answer as it had been in the years Before Shuuichi. Shu had given him... hope. A lust for life beyond sex and booze and tobacco. He needed to tell the brat he understood that now. Had to tell Shu what had happened between him and Jesse.

He really felt Shu deserved to know that, and wouldn't rest until he'd told him, but he couldn't say it in an email or to the damned answering machine!

"Shu... Call me back. No matter what time you get this. Wake me up. It's okay."

He set the phone down, opened his computer and brought up his newest manuscript. Found his "Shu-chan" music folder and set it to play in the background.

He didn't get beyond the first few paragraphs, before he was lost... in, of all things, Shu's lyrics.

###

Show blanketed Japan.

He'd never seen anything like it. The whole place, even the skyscrapers, seemed buried in the white drifts.

Eiri put his computer away as the stews came down the aisle in a final prep for landing, and stared out the window in awe.

He'd had no idea. There'd been nothing on the American news about what had to be a record snowfall. And that blanket raised a new concern over Shu's continued silence. The answering machine had worked, so he must have power. Surely he had power. But their home was, in it's own way, out a private road on a steep hillside, quite isolated.

_The snow shovel awaits..._

He'd left that damned note. Could Shuuichi really be out shoveling this shit? What if he'd been hurt? Outside. Alone. Unable to call for help.

God...

The instant the hatch opened, he was out and running toward the terminal, cell phone in hand, the speed dial tones pinging in his ear.

"_Gomen. The magnifi—"_

Dammit. He punched the bypass key and the leave message ping sounded. "Dammit, Shu, pick up the phone! I'm home. I'm at the airport. I see the snow. Are you fucking all right? What the hell has been going on? Dammit, I don't care how mad you are at me, _pick up the damn phone!"_

Nothing. Not a fucking thing.

"Shu, I'm coming. Dammit, I'm on my way. I _understand, _Shu. I _do_ understand."

He called for a cab, gave him the address and got a "Sorry. That area is out of reach at this time."

Screw that. He called his brother-in-law, who was delighted to hear from him, shared none of his concerns about Shu and advised him to stay in town until the roads could be cleared.

Fuck that. He called Nakano, Shu's best friend and co-musician. He had a motorcycle. Maybe he'd lend it to him.

"_Wow, Yuki-san."_ Hiro, at least, understood his concern. _"You're welcome to try, but you can't get within two miles of the place. But don't worry too much. I talked to Shu yesterday and he seemed fine. I really think—"_

"I've got to get there."

A short pause, then. _"Important, is it?"_

How much had Shu told him? Nakano was his best friend. Had been since they were kids.

"Yes."

Another pause. Then: _"Let me call my parents. They've got a Subaru. Better chance of getting through in that. I'll come pick you up."_

He sighed. "Thanks, Nakano. I owe you one."

"_No, Yuki-san. I don't think you do. I'm... glad to help."_

Oh, wasn't there a world of innuendo in that.

"_I'll meet you outside baggage claim."_

_###  
_

The snow was, if anything, worse than he'd imagined. Nakano proved a surprisingly careful and experienced driver.

It was, Eiri decided, a very good thing the younger man was driving. He'd have lead-footed it, never minding the road conditions.

In the end, they got within a mile before Nakano had to admit defeat. "I'm sorry, Yuki-san. We're just not going to make it."

"I'm going on."

"You can't!"

"Can I leave my stuff with you?"

Nakano blinked. "Even the computer?"

That pained him, but: "Yes, even the computer. Let anyone touch it and you'll answer to me, understand?"

Nakano smiled wryly. "I'm not an idiot. I'll guard it with my life."

"Good enough."

"Take your cell phone."

"Of course."

"And call me when you reach the house. I'm staying here until I hear from you."

Or if he ran into trouble. Nakano didn't say that, but he knew from the tone of voice it was on his mind. There were steep cliffs along the road.

"I'll do that." He pulled on his gloves, wrapped his scarf around his neck several times and reached for the door handle.

"Wait." Nakano twisted around and pulled something out of the back. A flashlight, which would be useful. And a furred hat. With cat ears. "Shu left it here the last time I took him out to get some food. You'll need it."

"Hell if." He eyed the thing with revulsion.

"You want to get there, don't you?"

He growled and snatched the offensive article from Nakano's fingers. Nakano stared at him, expectantly, laughter lurking behind those deceptively gentle eyes.

"Fuck you," he said, and pulled the ridiculous thing over his head and down to cover his ears.

Nakano choked. "Looks better on Shu."

"Most things do." He stretched out his hand. "Thanks, Nakano."

"Just... get home safely, okay? I don't want Shu's heartbreak on my conscience."

"Nothing... _nothing_ is going to stop me."

A smile lit his thin face. "Wish Shu could hear that. Good luck, Eiri."

###

He had plenty of time, as he struggled through the drifts, to think about that last conversation with Shuuichi...and all that had happened since.

_Clueless, am I? And selfish. I can't possibly comprehend what you're experiencing. God, Eiri, when was the last time you listened, really listened, to my songs? When was the last time you read, _really_ read, your own work? _

Well, he had listened. And he'd read. And Shu had had every right to be upset. There he'd been spouted the praises of a complete stranger, running on about how much he was learning by working with him...

And Shu, sweet, hyper, frequently delusional Shu, had been writing his heart out for years. And Shu had been reading _his_ work and learning. Not copying, Shu fundamentally couldn't mimic anyone. Anything he touched became his own. Even back in the days when he _tried _to copy his hero, Sakuma Ryuuichi, it had come out... different. More heartfelt, at least to his admittedly prejudiced ears. And Shu's tone... that had been unique, right from the start.

Damn. He pushed harder through the snow, ignoring the ice building up on the edges of his pants and working its way into his shoes.

_I don't want to risk ruining a true talent..._

That... from a man who had done everything he could, when he'd first met Shindou Shuuichi, to destroy him and a talent he simply didn't understand, a talent that reeked of an innocence and honesty that was the antithesis of what he'd become.

He'd sensed the talent, _and_ the innocence, damn right he had, and in his arrogance, had mocked it and actively sought to destroy it... because it threatened everything he believed about the world.

When had that changed? When had he begun to believe in Shu and everything Shu represented? He couldn't single out a time or a place, but the reason was clear. It was because Shu believed in _him_. Not to mention _them. _Wholeheartedly.

He'd had Shu's belief, right from the start. But that belief had never been reciprocated.

Damn. Shu had been upset from the first time he told him about Jesse, and who could blame him? He'd been thrown back, by Eiri's own words, to that daily struggle to believe in himself despite Eiri's mockery. Dammit, the only reason he'd been worried about it with Jesse was _because_ he'd been witness to Shu's brave struggles, and didn't want to put someone else through that. He knew that now. Why, oh why hadn't he been able to tell Shu that?

Ever?

Shu had been upset. Shu had been alone, isolated in this freezing mess with nothing but a cat for company. Hiro said the last time he'd seen him had been five days ago...the last time they'd plowed the tertiary roads. All that time... and all he'd gotten from Eiri had been accolades about another writer, excitement about how rich the creative exchange was.

How could he have been so blind?

Shu's lyrics weren't the only thing that had changed. On the flight back, he'd gone over his entire backlist. Before Shu, there was a grim sameness to them all. After Shu, there was a burst of some of the worst shit he'd ever written. Damn...how could he have let it go out like that? And then... double damn... it had begun to... as Shu put it... sing. And the melody grew stronger and more confident with each book he wrote.

He saw the lights of the house through the snow-heavy trees, and pushed on with renewed strength.

How could he have been so blind? How could he— He stopped, just short of their driveway. He'd been plowing through knee and sometimes higher drifts for the better part of a mile. Here, suddenly, the snow reached higher than his head. He made his way gingerly around the enormous drift, found one small break through which he squeezed... and on the far side...

_...just keep the damn driveway clear._

Damned if the squirt hadn't done exactly that, clear to the concrete. Never mind a car would never get in or out, the driveway was clear... though he couldn't for the life of him see how Shuuichi had heaved the snow so high.

He broke into a staggering run, headed for the door with the beveled glass inserts on either side.

It was unlocked. He mumbled a prayer of thanks through lips gone numb. His fingers would never have found the keys in his pocket.

He practically fell through.

"Shu?" he shouted as he kicked off his shoes, then, "Shindou Shuuichi, answer me! Right now!"

Silence.

Then, suddenly, a yowl from the kitchen.

With visions of Shuuichi's corpse lying sprawled on the floor, he stumbled down the corridor on tingling feet, leaving damp footprints on the hardwood. He grabbed the wall at the corner and steadied himself, only to discover a (for Shu) clean kitchen, empty except for the black cat sitting beside his empty food bowl, golden eyes staring expectantly.

"Where is he, Yushu?" he demanded, but the cat simply looked from him to the bowl and back again. "Fuck." He filled the bowl with a scoop of dry food from the ginger jar on the counter, then headed for the bedroom.

Bed made, Shuuichi-style, which meant the covers were at least not scattered on the floor, a few articles of clothing... outdoor wear with water stains. But no Shuuichi.

Yuki changed hurriedly, tossing his dripping slacks into the tiled bathroom as he headed for the back door.

His cell phone blared... from the bedroom, where he'd tossed it on the dresser.

Damn. Hiro. He couldn't ignore it. If he didn't answer, the younger man would be following him into this mess.

He ran back to the room, caught it just before it went to voice mail.

"_I'm sure he's fine, Yuki-san. Probably fell asleep somewhere. Did you try his cell?"_

Why hadn't he thought of that. "I will. Thanks."

"_Let me know when you find him, OK?"_

"I will. Thanks." He hung up, called Shu's cell, and heard it ring elsewhere in the house. He let it ring until it went to voice mail, then hung up.

Damn. Where? He began a systematic search of the house. Maybe Hiro was right. The brat could sleep damnwell any—

Yushu shot through the door, bashing his ankles, full now and ready to play.

"Dammit, not now!" He shoved the cat aside with his foot. "I need to find Shu—"

An insulted yowl interrupted him and tail in the air, Yushu trotted pointedly for the front door, where he began scratching insistently.

"I was just out there. He's not—"

Another irritated yowl and the big cat stretched up, reaching for the door handle. He caught it with both paws and pulled it down. The door swung open and he flashed through.

"Dammit." Eiri chased after him, out into the freezing night. But Yushu was nowhere in sight, vanished in a sea of white mounds that would be plants in the spring. The only exit was that slim break in the wall of white.

God. If anything happened to that stupid cat—

Eiri headed for the opening, but as he passed an extremely large mound, he caught... surely that was... Only one person giggled like that: a very sleepy Shu.

"Shuuichi?" he shouted. "Dammit, you cursed brat, where are you!"

"Yuuuki?" The drowsy voice hung in the air, impossible to tell where it came from. "Phooey..." Suddenly, a part of the mound began to move, near the base a small section shifted outward, pushing a skiff of freshly fallen snow before it.

"Fuck!" Yuki began digging frantically, realized it was a hard block and began to pull it one way and another.

"Not so hard!" Shu's bodiless voice cried, and the block resisted his efforts.

"Dammit, what happened?" He began to dig around the edges of the block.

"Stop it. Yuki, wait! I'll get it."

The block moved again, and a small opening appeared behind it. Yushu flashed out, a black streak against the white, and darted back toward the house and the door he'd left hanging open. His job done.

The block moved further out, fur-booted feet pushing it well away from what he could now see was a square opening. The feet disappeared and a bemittened hand, followed by a furry head took its place, as Shuuichi wiggled through the hole. Halfway out, the furry hood tipped back revealing twinkling eyes and a wide grin.

"Hi, Yuki! Welcome—"

He got no further as Eiri swept him out and up and crushed his lips to the very receptive mouth, only then realizing just how deeply he'd feared finding an empty house when he returned.

"Mmm..." Shuuichi murmured against his lips. "Does this mean we aren't arguing any more?"

He drew back enough to see Shu's face. "As I recall, you were the one not speaking."

A sleepy grin. "That was before you called."

"Dammit... why didn't you pick up?"

Shu's brow furrowed. "I didn't hear Yuki." He wiggled free. "Though I might not have picked up anyway."

"_Why not!"_ He was freezing, shivering clear to his vocal chords. He'd run out with nothing but sweatpants and a sweater. Shu was in fur, and his cheeks were still rosy with the cold. "Dammit, come inside. Out of the cold."

Shu tipped his head toward the snow mound. "In here." And ducked down to wiggle back through the hole.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Silence. And the booted feet disappeared.

"What the hell?"

A bemittened hand reached out.

Eiri cursed softly, but he knew this attitude. Shu wasn't going in until he was good and ready. Normally, he'd just leave him... But not tonight. Hell, he was probably doomed to pneumonia anyway.

He knelt down and followed that mitten into darkness.

It was surprisingly snug inside, especially when an unseen blanket came around his shoulders as he twisted about to sit crosslegged, which he could do without his hair brushing the packed snow overhead.

Barely.

And under his hands and knees it wasn't packed snow, but something soft and dry. A bit of rustling in the darkness and the next thing he knew a warm body, sans coat, tucked in under the blanket with him.

"They say this is how to keep warm," Shu murmured and curled up against him, pulling the blanket around them.

A _click_ and a beam from a big spot-flashlight reflected off the snow, lighting the entire, lopsided dome. An igloo. Shuuichi-style. Complete with lamp, blankets, pillows. The spiral notepad and magic marker he still used for writing his lyrics.

"Been spending some time out here, have you?" Eiri asked and Shuuichi nodded.

"It's been lonely inside."

"Yushu's not happy."

"He's been out here with me, most of the time."

"Not tonight."

"I was waiting for you."

"So you ignored that call, too."

Another shake of the head. "I was out here. I didn't expect you. You didn't say when you were coming home. I went in, heard the message..."

"And came out here to wait."

A nod.

"How the hell did you think I'd get here! The roads are—"

"You said you were coming home." Quiet confidence. Trust. _Belief. _Damn.

"Shu, I..." Where could he begin? Damned if it would be with an apology.

"You read. You listened."

"Yeah."

"You understand why I was upset."

"Yeah."

"It's okay, Yuki. I didn't realize either, until Hiro said something that day you left. It just kinda... happened."

"We both grew."

"Yup."

"Learned from each other."

"Yup."

"Creativity's weird."

"Yup."

"Shu?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Can we go in now?"

A little negative-sounding grunt.

"Yushu left the door open."

Shuuishi's smaller body dug in deeper.

"Dammit, brat, I'm really tired. And cold. Plowed through drifts higher than my head to get here."

"Liar."

"Embellisher."

"Whatever."

Another short silence, then, as the chill and aching muscles set in with a vengeance along with the stupidity of what he'd done to get here:

"You know that hot tub we talked about?" Eiri asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm ordering it. Tomorrow."

"I don't think they'd deliver at the moment."

"I'll hire a snowplow."

With a little giggle, Shuuichi wiggled free and squirmed out the door, and, from the sound, began running for the house.

What the hell?

Eiri followed, stifling a groan as stiffening muscles protested...loudly.

Just inside the door, he found a trail of clothing, a trail that led, not to the bedroom, but to the back door, a sliding door that let out onto a deck with an incredible view of the city. A deck which was also meticulously shoveled, and in a new hole in that deck...just where they'd discussed...

Steam arose around slender, well-muscled shoulders, purple-tinged eyes gazed up at him through a shaggy fall of hair.

"Welcome home, Eiri."

END

Thanks to everyone for R&R! I've got one more long story that I'm going to be putting up. I actually wrote it several years ago, but it's based on another story that I was waiting to be finished. Unfortunately, that final chapter has never happened, so I'm going to go ahead and share my take on the premise.

I'm also working on a series based on holidays. Some of the CCS stories might work their way over into that anthology. Just letting you know. :D


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